LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 






f UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f 




%%^o 






J 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 



BY 



MRS. .JENNIE xVURELTA WILBUR. 



I would life were all poetry ; '"---._ ^.\ _ 

To gentle measure set; 
Nor one discordant note be spoken, 
Till God the tuneful harp hath broken." 

— N. P. Willis. 



^i 






CHICAGO 

ISOO. 



^^A^flf^<u^J^ 






■ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 186(j, 

By CHARLES E. POMEROY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of tlie United States 
for the Northern District of Illinois. 



3 y 



^■h ^ 




DEDICATORY. 



TO 

GERTIE AND NETTIE, 

WHO HAVE BEEN 

AS STARS SHINING THROUGH THE NIGHT-TIME OF MY LIFE, 

I gcbitatc lljis gook, 

■WITH THB 

FONDEST EXPRESSIONS OF AFFECTION. 
The Authoress. 



PEEFACE. 



Ix placing this volume of poems before the public, the author- 
ess has been actuated more by the advice of friends than the 
mere love of fame, and if her songs shall be as music to one 
listening ear, not vainly will she have wrought through the red 
heat of summer days, or the white frost that lays nightly along 
the devious paths of every human life. As the dove went forth 
frona the sacred ark, so her heart's bird goeth forth to the world 
from these pages, not ^knowing if it will find rest in sunny 
places, and beneath serene skies, but may it be to bear the 
branch of olive as a token, that shall bloom in perennial 
sweetness and beautj' forevermore. 

Chicago, Nov. 20th, 1866. 



COiTTEKTS. 



An Invocation 13 

My Early Home 15 

Aspirations 17 

The First Dream of the Heart 19 

The Beautiful Isle 21 

The City of Palms 23 

Theodore 26 

My Own 28 

The Picture in the Heart 29 

The Mother's Prayer 32 

The Winds ,, 38 

To an Evening Star 40 

Signs of Spring 41 

The Moss Rose 42 

Absence 44 

Magenta 45 

The Beauty of Lichens and Mosses 48 

Lines to a False Lover 50 

The Star of Hope 51 

The Summer Leaf 53 

Hermione, or, the heart not at rest 54 

Last Words 55 

Tiie False Hearted 58 

Mai-y Queen of Scots 60 

Light and Darkness 63 

I Sing to Thee 60 

Tribute to E. B. Browning 67 

The Burial Boll ., G9 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The Valley of Shadows ~'^ 

The Bridal of Death p 

Renienibi-ance ''^ 

A Memorial of C. P. Wright "8 

The Baptism ^^ 

To a Sea Shell S5 

My Native Land ^^ 

Little Mattie 90 

A Parting Gift 91 

Starlit Skies 92 

The Lock of Hair 9^ 

Past Pleasures S^ 

The Ideal 98 

The Real 99 

Egeria ^^^ 

Why Mourns my Heart 1^1 

Sighing for Home ^^'^ 

Memento Mori lf'4 

The Maniac 105 

Stanzas 108 

A Dirge on the Death of Mrs. Dr. Baker 110 

O! Come to me in the Spring-Time 112 

Ode to Bj-ron H^ 

The Sigh and the Tear 118 

And is this All ? 120 

The Patriot 121 

Stephen Arnold Douglas 123 

O ! Think of Me 125 

On and On 126 

Vain Hopes 128 

An Impromptu 129 

No More 1^0 

Sunset 1^1 

Place Your Hopes Above 132 

To Georgiana 133 

In Memoriam 134 

Niagai'a 136 

Johnny's Grave 137 

On a Dream of receiving flowers from a deceased friend 139 

The Name 141 

Awalce and Arouse Thee 143 

Recollections 145 

When I am Gone U7 

When the Life Light shall fade from my brow 148 



CONTEXTS. IX 

PAGE. 

T'ac Suicide ^^^ 

Voice:^ 1^^ 

Only in Dreams -^^'^ 

The Hall of Harps ^^'^ 

The Polar Sea '^^^ 

The Soul's Rain 157 

Lines for my Lyre -l^S 

The Lays of the Lowly 161 

Alone 1^^ 

The Wild Vine 164 

Tlie Song of the Heartstruck 166 

The Land beyond the Tide 16S 

By-Gone Days 1"^^ 

My Pets 13^ 

My Love's Eyes IJ^ 

Tokens from the Shore 17o 



A Wreath 



.m 



Love IJ'' 

The Law of Nature I'^'S 

My Father's Cane 181 

To a False Friend 181 



Emma 



.18G 



The Pride of the South 187 

Valley Dale 188 

Nellie 190 

The Martyr of Freedom 191 

Shoals 19^ 

Fair and False 191 

Thou art Gone 196 

Sonnet to Lake Michigan 198 

A Mother's Keepsakes 199 

Abraham Lincoln 201 

An Hour Past Midnight 202 

A Thought at Twilight 204 

Where areTney? 205 



To Ida. 



.208 



Lines— To the Pupils of G— o Seminary 210 



To Ada. 



.212 



The Silent Harp 215 

Elegiac Lines 217 

Good Bye 219 

My Request 221 

Luther Crawford Ladd 222 

April Clouds,...,,.., 223 

1 * 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Disappointment , 224 

Kankakee 225 

Free 226 

May 227 

June 229 

Bouncing Betty 231 

Wishes 233 

Summer Musings 235 

The Crown 237 

Gentle Words 239 

One Only ". 241 

The Parting 243 

To the Absent 245 

Lillie.., 246 

Little Daisy 247 

Gone 249 

Dreaming '. 250 

They Have Faded Away 252 

To Jennie 254 

A Picture 256 

The Picture 258 

To "Anon" 259 

To Mrs. Wilbur 261 

An Acrostic Sonnet 263 

Acrostical 264 

The Bridal Wreath 266 

Looking Back 268 

Looking Forward 270 

Myself 272 

To J. A. W 274 

To "Anon" 27b 

To J. A. W 278 

Lost Stars 280 

Why 281 

The Irish Pauper 283 

Winter and My Heart 285 

My Grave 287 

A Few More .289 

A Withered Heart 291 

My Life , 293 

The Farewell of the year 295 

Adown the Tide 299 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 



SONGS OF THE AYEST 




AN INV^OCATION. 



WAKE, awake, and strike tliy lyre 

To many a tuneful measure ; 
And wlien thou feel'st the latent fire, 
^^^ Ere yet its glowing flame expire, 

Give back thy own heart's treasure. 



Though all uncultured is thy song, 

And dull thy choicest note, 
Still may'st thou e'en the strain prolong, 
As untold visions round thee throng. 

And o'er thy pathway float. 



Yield up, yield up the thoughts that burn 
Upon thy spirit now; 



14 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Unlieeded they may not return 

At balmy eve and dewy morn, 

Where'er thou come or go. 

Oh ! golden, golden are the hours. 

That waiteth thus for thee ; 
And not among the earth's fair bowers 
The gentle dew among the flowers 
Passeth more fleet away. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 15 



MY EARLY HOME. 

In the westex'ii pai't of the State of New York, are seven 
beautiful lakes, viz: Seneca, Canandaigua, Owasco, Otisco, Skan- 
eateles, Crooked Lake, and Cayuga, which forms the subject of the 
following poem: 

" Amid the seven fair lakes, that lie, 
Like mii'rors 'neath the- summer sky." 

Ensenore. 

Cayuga, fairest of them all, 

Cayuga, when thy name I call, 

A thousand tender thoughts return, 

Which long have slept in memory's urn ; 

Of home and friends now passed away, 

Like sunbeams from the brow of day. 

Or like the gossamer of air 

That dies, we know not when or where. 

Cayuga, where thy waters glide, 

I've wandered oft at eventide. 

To cull young moss and violets blue. 

Which on thy banks profusely grew. 

The summer sun shone brightly then, 

On every hill, in every glen ; 

The poplar trembled in the breeze, 

The sweet birds sang among the tree?. 

The dark pine with the zephyr's moan, 

Broke on my ear, as oft alone 



16 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Yf ith liugering steps, I paused to dwell 
Oil scenes my );oung heart loved so well. 

! many a year has passed away, 
Siace I have watched the ripples play 
Upon thy bosom. 

Ah ! smce then, 
A '^ place of graves" is in the glen; 
Of household graves, of great and small, 
Together they are gathered, all; 
There sleeps the sire, and there the son, 
And sisters followed, one by one ; 
Consumption with its hectic glow, 
Ilath wasted life, and laid them low. 

Home of the living and the dead, 

1 ne'er again may lightly tread 

The halls where once thy feet have trod, 

Or weep above thy lowly sod ; 

But thou Cayuga I with thy wave 

Of silver, thou dost ever lave 

That dearly loved, but distant shore^ 

While I return, return no more. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 17 



ASPIRxVTIONS. 

♦'Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend, seeking a higher 
object."— Wordsworth. 

Upward, yes, still upward, 

Soul, be thy flight ; 
Till no j>:rovelling senses 

Bewilder thy sight ; 
Glorified the rather, 

Should thy glimpses be, 
Though the eternal pages, 

Lie wrapt in mystery. 

Nought on earth compareth 

With thy matchless worth ; 
Check not thy impulses, 

But let them go forth ; 
Send thy dove from thee, 

And the weary wing, 
If rightly directed, 

A rich blessing may bring. 

Swaying o'er the ocean 

Of grief, pain and care. 
The dark sea of sorrow, 

Let it hover there; 



18 SOXGS OF THE V/EST. 

Au olive branch 'twill bear thee, 
Of peace, hope and love ; 

Emblems of higher rest, 
In the mansions above. 

Be like the timid bird, 

Halting in her flight ; 
Poised on the trembling bough, 

Through the storm and night 
Though the brittle branches may 

Break beneath her hold ; 
Not the less singeth she ; 

As her wings unfold. 

Yf ings to soar the upper sky, 

Beneficently given ; 
High above the barren cliffs, 

By the tempests riven ; 
Up into the sunshine 

And refulgent light. 
Skies all with azure tinted, 

Golden-hued, and bright. 

Where the stars sing together, 

Ever on, and on, 
And the blest tune their harps 

Around the white throne ; 
Where the radiant orbs of day 

Circle as of yore, 
And the music of the spheres 

Ceaseth never more. 



soyos OF THE west. ■ 19 



THE FIRST DrvE.\M OF THE HEAFtT. 

The heart's first dream, how fond and fair, 
How fraught with wondrous meaning ; 

When, with eye to eye, we look beyond, 
As heart unto heart is leaning. 

Hand clasped in hand, a link in the chain, 
That binds two souls together, 

And shuts them out from the chilliog rain. 
The snow and the wintry weather. 



But dreams are transient in their birth. 
As the meteor flash above us ; 

As the passing sigh, or the song of mirth. 
Or the smiles of those who love us. 

We dream the most at the morning tide, 
When life is freshly glowing ; 

But the fairy visions leave our side, 
Alas ! without our knowing. 

But I the first sweet dream of morn. 
We greet until the awaking, 

To find our bower left forlorn, 
Forsaken, and forsaking. 



20 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 

To find our heart like some lone bird, 
Far in the wild-wood straying -, 

Whose dead leaves by the winds are stirred, 
A plaintive requiem playing. 



SOyOS OF THE WEST. 21 



THE BEAUTIFUL ISLE. 

Come, moor our boat up to the beautiful isle, 
The sunshine waves o'er it, the glad breezes smile; 
Green leaves sweetly blend with the gold from above, 
! it must be the beautiful island of Love. 

The breakers out yonder have gone to their rest, 
Among the green nooks to their pillows are prest; 
How softly the billows come into the bay. 
Like weary young children when tired of play. 

As the child's fitful slumbers in dreams of the night, 
So they waken, and glitter, and rise to the light; 
For dreams have their terrors, and darkness is drear. 
But a kind hand is o'er us, and daylight is near. 

Yes, now it is near, for the glow on the sky, 
Like the light wings of angels, flits silently by, 
Till a halo of glory rests over the main, 
As if 't were the spot where a seraph had lain. 

And as calmly and peacefully while she had slept, 
A power unseen o'er her vigils had kept, 
A watch like a mother's beside her first-born, 
So pure and so holy, this first breath of morn. 



22 SO^'-GS OF THE WEST. 

But the spells of tlie spirit, like spirits, have wings, 
And most rapturous of moods are the fleetest of things, 
Like the perfume of vases exposed to the air; 
Like flowers in fading, like all that is fair. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 23 



PALMYRA, THE CITY OF PALMS. 

Ages on ages back, wlien Time was young, 
And late tlie birth of Christ the angels sung, 
When the lone desert in its silence lay, 
Save when awakened by its Arab sway, 
An empire sprung up from the burning sands, 
The glory and the envy of all lands. 

Palmyra, glorious empire, desert queen, 
Amid the blackened waste, an oasis green ; 
A star to shine above the dark midnight, 
To gild its gloomy gates with gleams of light, 
The Tadmor of the wilderness no more, 
So named of Solomon in days of yore ; 
But the pah^ city, with its thousand groves, 
The scene of Zenobia and Odenatus' loves. 

Zenobia, fair daughter of an xVrab chief, 
Begotten of Amron to endure grief. 
To wear a widow's weeds before her prime. 
Endowed with wisdom flir beyond her time ; 
Her chosen masters were of ancient lore. 
Homer and Sophocles, Thucydides, and more ; 
Diving with Plato down each deep abyss, 
L'nawed by philosophic mysteries. 



24 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Such was Zenobia, first and only queen, 

That e'er was crowned within that isknd green. 

Zenobi.i, though a woman, manlike, bold, 

To turn the sullen sands to gems of gold, 

To perfect what a meaner mind begun, 

Till e'en her temples soared to reach the sun 

A female Solomon in all save his vices, 

His love of ease, and many more caprices ; 

Such was she, when to stud her royal crown, 

Jerusalem, Damascus, Antioch, came down. 

Like maids, to stand around a new made bride ; 

Thus kingdoms gathered to her royal side : 

Where broad-leaved palm trees towered to the skies, 

Did stately domes and palaces arise ; 

And marble columns, obelisks, and towers. 

Gleamed back the sunshine in a thousand showers 

Of burnished gold brought far from many mines. 

Alas ! such splendor now no longer shines ! 

The twilight lingers, of a sky that shone 
For her, the beautiful — for her alone — 
Whose hand had helped to crown with grace and skill; 
Would that its glory were remainiuo- still ; 
^A fairy laud, and she the fair}^ queen. 
Illustrious as its own fair Palmyrcne. 

But ah ! that glittering crown fell from her brow ! 
AYliere are the green leaves of Palmyra now ? 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 25 

Where the broad stream of wealth from the Incliau 

main ? 
The caravans, a treasure-hiden train 
Of gems and gold, and birds of plumage gay, 
And flowers that seemed might never fade away • 
Grone, gone, alas ! into the silent land ; 
The ashes of a thousand centuries stand 
To mark the noble wreck so famed of yore, 
Palmyra fallen, Zenobia no more. 



2G SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THEODOEE. 

FRIEND of my bosom, farewell ! fare tliee well ! 

For thy loved form hatli faded in silence away ; 
But the love that enchained like a magical spell, 

Thy heart within mine, is still burning to-day. 

My heart flew to thine like a dove to its cote. 

From the storm that hung over a threatening sky ; 

'T was thy love gave my spirit its answering note, 
And first taught my weak and unfledged wings to fly. 

^Yould that no careless word cast a shadow on thee, 
While so lonely I bend o'er thy dust-laden shrine ; 

But alas ! that the love that was fliithless to me. 

Should in thrall hold a heart that was ne'er false to 
thine. 

But my spirit shall draw a vail over the past 

That will reach far adown through the ages of time, 

To hide a false love far too fickle to last : 

! the heart can forgive with a feeling sublime. 

May the ashes of roses be spread like a pall 

O'er thy relics to perfume the place of thy sleep ; 

And the wrong thou hast wrought, thy blind passion and 
all, 
Be merged in a record of virtues to keep. 



SCLVGS OF THE WEST. 



Let me weep my beloved, for tears liave a power, 
To submerge tlie heart's g:?ief, within it that lies, 

As the over charged floods from the heavens that lower, 
But bring back the calm and the blue of the skies. 



28 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



MY OAVN. 

My own, my beautiful, wlierc 

Dost tliou repose to-day ; 

Or sportest with au airy grace, 

Along thy youthful way ? 

Thou art as fair as Sharon's rose, 

Or lily of the vale ; 
►Shedding an influence as sweet. 

As some far southern gale. 

Thou art like roses' rare perfume, 

Of the sweet month of June ; 

Or like the softest airs that play 

In summer hours at noon. 



SO.VGS OF THE WEST. 29 



THE PICTURE IN THE HEAHT. 

There 's a well remembered picture, 
Which I wear withiu my heart ; 

And with the joy it brings to me, 
I should unwilliuii" be to part. 

Oftentimes, at early morning, 

As I look upon its lines, 
Drawn with wondrous skill and beauty. 

To my eye it brightly shines. 

How the landscape ever varies. 
Pictured with a magic art ; 

Here and there are groups reclining, 
And some frail ones far apart. 

I can see one over yonder, 

Fair as any 'neath the sun ; 

With its young life's limning ended, 
Scarcely ere it was begun. 

01 the radiant blue, encircling 

That fair head, and fairer brow ; 

From the arching skies cerulean. 

Its golden liaht shines on me now. 



oO SONGS OF THE WEST. 

There are trees with greenest foliage 
Where the sweet-voiced birds doth 

And as bends my ear for music, 
Bear me on their silent wing. 

There 's a miniature streamlet 

Bearing down toward the glade ; 

And a mimic boat is sailing, 

Softly onward to the shade. 

Here a tiny barque is mooring, 
To a high and sandy shore } 

To and fro dim forms are gliding, 
But I hear their steps no more. 

I white waves, like wings of angels, 
Bearing upward to the strand, 

Like a sea-bird soaring onward ; 

Come ye from the shadowy Land ? 



Come to bear away my treasures. 
As the green trees o'er ye wave 

Yes, ye have wreaths for the bridal. 
And a cypress for the grave. 



See, the canvas moves like magic, 

With new scenes and prospects rife ; 

And, like ebbing sands are flowing 
O'er my soul, and such is life. 



SONGS OF TUB WJSST. 31 

So, of liglit and sliacle the picture 

Varies to my vivid eye, 
As the northern lights in winter 
. Flash along the bended sky. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

Where time-worn tenements unsightly reared 
Their walls liigli o'er a lone, secluded street; 
Within an humble room aside from all, 
Scantily furnished, and withal but few, 
The cozy comforts we a*e wont to find; 
Upon a stool close by a pallet low, 
And o'er a sleeping form that rested there 
A mother bent, and kept her holy watch. 

She was a young mother, for on her head 
Scarce twenty summers had their traces left ; 
And yet she looked as twenty summers twice 
Had limned their shadows o'er her devious way ; 
For grief and sorrow both had left their lines 
On her fair face, that loas fair as the morn ; 
And she had learned to sigh. 

A deep drawn sigh. 
Had oft escaped her lips, mingled with prayers, 
And tears, and bitter anguish, and the damps 
Of humid eyes were yet upon her brow. 
A few faint embers struggled in the grate, 
To light the low bed where the sleeper lay ; 
And just reveal the open palms that clasped 
The brows of the pale watcher by its side. 



SO^GS OF THE WEST. 33 

Her thouo'lits were of the past, the far away, 
And faded scenes of childhood flitted by, 
As withered flowers borne before the winds ; 
And all around her heart promiscuous lay, 
Like scattered fragments from a broken vase ; 
And so, she gathered up the memories 
That once her heart had garnered in its depths ; 
Each one had found within her soul its own 
Sweet echo, answering back in kindred tones ; 
Alas ! they had died out, like the murmurs 
Of wasted shells upon a wild sea-shore. 

But still she pondered, thought, and wept, and prayed, 

Mingled with glimpses of her childhood's home. 

Like snatches of a well remembered strain, 

Upon an unstrung lute, the key-note lost; 

Yet, the remaining strings would give forth sound, 

Though jarring and discordant. 

Her heart's lute 
Was vibrating to sounds of other days ; 
Some of the strings were broken asunder, still 
Enough were left to show what it had been : 
She mused upon the time when she had lain 
A helpless infant in the sheltering crib, 
Nursed by a mother tenderly as she 
O'er her unconscious son now slumbering there ; 
And then she thought upon the flowers she plucked 
When first her eyes were oped to the delights 
Of nature that had ne'er been miscrlv 



U SONGS OF THE WEST. 

To her, but with a lavish hand had spread 
Her path with roses. 

She had found the thorns, 
But erst she was a maiden fond and true ; 
And to her side there came a lover bold, 
And questioned if she would become his bride. 
Her cheeks were like blush-roses in the Junes 
That had passed o'er them, making them as fair ; 
So, with her modest eyes, she smiled assent, 
And the}'- were no more twain. 

The honey moon 
Shone sweetly on their fairy, nuptial bower, 
And not a cloud obscured its radiant disc, 
Not even one little fleecy white cloud 
Passed between it and the bridal bays, 
As token of a shadow that might fall 
To dim the one unto the other's sight. 
The shadow did fall, waking many sighs, 
But not yet, so, together on they walked. 
Heart linked to heart, and hand in hand, and she 
Oft listened to his honeyed words of love 
Till she reposed her trusting soul in his. 
With such devotion as but woman can. 
Not dreaming that he could betray such trust ; 
And she became a mother; of her life-blood 
There flowed another stream commensurate 
With time and with eternity. 



.SONGS OF Tin: WFST. 
'T was that. 



That thought which filled her sinking soul with di-eacl. 

She had brought forth a being that must live 

Eternally, and yet perhaps might be 

Doomed to eternal death through sin and shame, 

Why should she not rejoice in this rich gift 

From the G-reat Giver of all, every good ; 

Why should she not wait, hope, to see the bud 

Expanded to the perfect flower, and then 

Behold it rise and grow diviner still, 

From tiny bud, and mature flower, to 

The stately tree, within whose branching shade. 

Even she might sit from out the noonday sun ? 

The babe was a boy, and had its father's look, 

The same high noble brow — the seat of thouglit — 

The same dark, curling hair, and ebon eyes ; 

And his lips bore the smile his father's wore ; 

He whom she loved but as her other self ; 

And why was not all this a cause for joy ? 

Alas ! alas ! shall it be said ? ah ! yes. 

Whisper it low, he was a drunkard now. 

Friends clustered round him in his festal hours, 

But they were false friends, and they lured him from 

His allegiance to his plighted love. 

At first, 't was but the ruby bowl, whose wines 
Sparkled like gems around the necks of kings ; 
But soon he found it was a chain whose links 
Had bound him with its iron fetters strong ; 
T^ntil from out the maddeninri' bowl he drained 



3G SOXGS OF THE WFST. 

The poison dregs, and lost all sense of manhood. 

He knew not even of the lovely morn 

Those little eyes first opened to the light, 

And a sweet cherub voice had called him father; 

Where was the poor inebriate that lone night 

Wherein she sat and prayed, and prayed, and prayed ; 

A heart-felt, gushing, agonizing prayer. 

That reached not his ear, but the ear of God ? 

If thou had'st asked the fair moon if she sent 

Her kindling beams to guide him to his home, 

She had made answer, " No, I am too pure 

To look upon a loathsome wine-bibber — 'twould 

Defile my face despite the fleecy whiteness 

Of my snowy veil, and leave thereon a stain :" 

The bright stars, too, would hide their twinkling light, 

If such were possible, nor see him pass. 

Leave him in darkness, fit his deeds for that ; 

And go back to the lone watcher with soft tread, 

For she was listening for his footstep now. 

Awhile she spoke, and thus in low, sad tones : 

'•0 Jesus, Saviour, and Redeemer, mine ; 
Look with compassiou on thy child this night, 
Earth-weary, worn in the tired, toilsome way; 
AYhere bare thorns pierce my naked, bleeding feet : 
At thy footsool let me bow, Compassionate One ; 
And listen thou unto my ardent prayer. 

I bring a gift to thee — a priceless gift — 
Yctj only give back Avhat thou gavcst mo; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 37 

Baptized with a suffering mother's tears, 
And purer than the first drops of the morning 
Dew, or snowfiake from the fleecy cloud. . 

Oh! 
Take him now, my Father, before the world 
Shall sully the fair spirit of my fair boy ; 
Although it break my heart, take, take him now, 
Lest he should live to blush a mother's love ; 
Lest he should live to blight a mother's hopes ; 
Lest he should live to fill the inebriate's grave ; 
And if thou wilt take him from the world away, 
I will but smile what time I am smoothing down 
The parted locks above his angel brow ', 
And the last kiss imprint and feel as calm 
As when he smiled, and kissed me back again, 
And I will fold his little hands upon 
His breast as if he sweetly fell asleep; 
Then, Father, send his lovely angel down 
To bear him up to Thee, away, away, 
Far from the curse, to wear a seraph's crown." 

A hush, a lull in that lone bosom's strife, 

There was no sound, silent, spiritual 

Communication between earth and heaven ; 

The morning broke, 't was heard — the Mother's Prayer. 



38 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



THE WINDS. 

Wailing and sobbing and sbrieking by, 
In the day and the night-time mournfully ; 
Could they but speak with a trumpet tongue, 
And tell of the scenes they had passed among, 
The cheek would blanch, and the heart turn pale, 
As the sad winds told the sorrowful tale. 

Have ye passed o'er the field of carnage, say. 
And wiped the death dews from the brow away ; 
Where the mighty lay with their glory gone, 
AVhile ye in your terrible strength rushed on ; 
Laden with tears and sighs and groans, 
Was it there ye did gather those fearful moans ? 

Ye have come from the sea with its treacherous wave. 

Which hides in its dark depths many a grave ; 

As the barque went down did ye lift your breath, 

To hurry it on to the gates of death ? 

Come, tell of the trophies which ye have won, 

Of your conquests, and deeds of darkness done. 

Ye have been with the tempest and swept o'er the main, 
And many a tall tree now lies on the plain. 
All scathed ; of its benutv and comeliness shorn, 



SOXGS OF TILE WE.ST. 8(» 

Which ye, in your wrath and your fury have torn. 
Oh ! winds, fearless winds, give the dread secrets back, 
Which have laid in your footsteps, and followed your 
track. 

But not always with the might of your breath do ye 

bring 
Evil tidings, or songs for the desolate sing. 
As curses and blessings oft go hand in hand, 
So bring ye both evil and good to the land ; 
But tell us, oh ! tell us where'er ye have been. 
Ye have voices, stern voices, say what have ye seen ? 

Ye give back no answer, pass on in your might, 
'Mid the light of the day, and the darkness of night ; 
'T is of no use to question, all sealed is the book, 
On whose pages the daring not even may look ; 
Unfettered ye are, and no strong hand may stay, 
Or follow your wanderings, away I away ! 



40 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



TO AN EVENING STAR. 

Give me thy beaming, ! beautiful star, 

So softly gleaming on high and afar ; 

Pierce the dark vales with thy glimmering light, 

Shine on forever, to gladden the night. 

Down through the vista of fast-flowing years, 
Scatter hope's bright rays, dispelling the fears; 
Illumine the waters of Life's troubled sea, 
Darkness will fiide, where thy sweet rays be. 

Give me thy beaming, ! beautiful star. 
One little gleam of thy glory afar ; 
Fill my soul's shades with thy ,a;littGring light, 
Shine till the morning shall follow the night. 



SOJUGS OF THE WEST. 41 



SIGNS OF SPRING. 

It is spring's alcliemic finger, 

That liatli touch' d the willows green, 

Their lithe shoots turned to golden wands. 
By fairy brooklets seen ; 

And silver-dusted foilage tells, 
Where its first breath has been. 

The new meadow grass is blading, 

Last year's storm -bleached tufts among ; 

The landscape beautifully spread, 
With tender green along ; 

The budding branches overhead. 
Are redolent with song 

Of birdt^ from far off bowers. 

From some sultry southern clime; 

Coming to wake, with carols sweet, 
The lovely summer time ; 

And thrill, and cheer, and gladden, 
When the year is in its prime. 

It is nature's new awakening, 

Most glorious to behold ; 
The resurrection of dry bones, 

From her valley dark and cold ; 
Of this strange pass from death to life, 

The half can ne'er be told. 



42 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE MOSS ROSE. 

The guardian angel of the flowers 
Who in their shadows lay, 

Slumbered amid the floral bowers 
Beneath a rose one day. 

Awaking from her sweet repose, 
Within the fragrant shade, 

What further off"ering to the rose, 
She thought, can still be made. 

And thus she spoke in accents mild, 
And simple dalliance free : 
"My fairest and my loveliest child. 
What can I give to thee, 

To add unto thy queenly grace. 

And regal majesty ; 
To help thee to adorn thy place ? 

Say what the gift shall be." 

The spirit of the rose-tree now 

Made answer on this wise : 

" Seek not to hang upon my brow, 

The hue of summer skies, 



SOJ^GS OF THE WEST. 

But simply twine around my face, 
A wreath of living green,'^ 

And the moss-rose of all tlie race, 
Most beautiful is seen. 



44 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



ABSENCE. 

I THINK of thee, 

When morning light 
Hath chased away 

The shades of night ; 

When thinkest thou of mc ? 



I think of thee, 

At even tide. 
As I have often 

At thy side ; 

Where thinkest thou of mc ? 

I think of thee, 

With thoughts most true ; 
For such are ever 

All thy due ; 

How thinkest thou of me ? 

Oh ! think of me, 

By night and day ; 
Till we meet again, 

I fondly pray ; 

For I ever think of thee. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 45 



MAGENTA. 

"What bard shall seek, in fitting strains, to celebrate its 
praise, 

And o'er tlie bloody battle field a lofty pean raise, 

Of brothers, husbands, fathers, sons, steeped with the 
reddest gore, 

Who, by the altar and the hearth, may mingle never- 
more ? 

It hath a place of hecatombs, hundreds of forms com- 
pressed 

Together in one mass, a ghastly, weltering heap they 
rest, 

Without one tender hand to wipe the dews of death 
away. 

Or shed aff"ection's tear, the last gift to the lifeless clay. 

Let childless mothers go and weep above that blood- 
stained sod. 

Where the blessed feet they listen for in vain, their last 
have trod. 

For where the prancing steed and rider, armed in glit- 
tering mail, 

Went forth, they left mementoes there, to make the 
cheek turn pale. 



4i) SONGS OF THE WEST. 

The wife may gather to her breast the pledges of their 

love, 
And from her home all desolate, now only look above, I 
For she shall vainly watch for him, through long and 

weary days, 
Who was the light of her fond eyes, far from her side 

he lays. 

The bride of but an hour may now put off her orange ^ 

flowers. 
And leave them under sunnier skies, to bloom in other 

bowers, 
Her noble lord hath bowed in spirit to another shrine, 
And she lives to see her bridal day of one short sun 

decline. 

The lover and the loved, alas! they ne'er a,G:ain shall 

meet, 
And through the long, long summer hours give place to 

parlance sweet ; 4 

Another hand than hers hath laid a garland on his 1 

brow ; I 

Why waits she, and why comes he not, why does he 

lincjer now ? 

The gentle daughter mourns the guardian of her youth- 
ful years, 

And life's gay morning bright and fair, hath lines of 
grief and tears, 



SONGS OF THE ]VFST. 47 

For o'er tlie sunshine of lier soul unwelcome shadows 

steal, 
As she listens to the clash of arms, the cannon's deadly 

peal. 

The sister, sad and pensive now, hath laid aside her 
mirth, 

To think awhile of blighted hopes, and broken ties of 
birth — 

! the beauty and the glory, and the strength of man- 
hood's prime ; 

They have perished, as do rare exotics, in a foreign 
clime. 

The sea may boast its myriad graves, though hidden 
from the sight, . 

As it wraps them in its coral caves of shells and sea- 
weed bright ; 

The pestilence may sweep the earth, a scourge to every 
land. 

But cruel and relentless war slays with a stronger hand. 

Magenta hath a power now to wake the slumbering lyre ; 
^T is far-famed as a charnel house, a vast and solemn 

pyre ', 
As votaries from every land built high the funeral pile? 
And eyes bedewed with bitter tears looked on and wept 

the while. 



48 SONGS OF Till: WFST. 



THE BEAUTY OF LICHENS AND MOSSES. 

Earth's floral gems are they, beautiful things, 

Covering its blemishes from sight. 
Blooming forever and fading not, 

Charming the 63^6, with their silver light. 
The rock, all unsightly, may tower on high, 

The loving gray lichen will cling to its side, 
The structure decaying, a frame work may lie, 

For the iris-dyed mosses its ruin to hide. 

Meek, unassuming, and merciful things, 

Veiling with pity, the footprints of time, 
Gracefully simple, and pensively sweet. 

Gift-bearing blossoms for every clime. 
No parching heat of the summer suns, 

May blanch their bosses of beaming green. 
Nor frost finger tarnish the rubied bloom, 

Or the lustre bright of their starry sheen. 

Living eternally, fadeless things, 

Biding the storms of a thousand years, 
Crowning the far-off mountain's peak. 

With the radiant hues the sunset wears. 
Enduring and hardy as the rocks 

On which they rest; the tempest in vain 
May fall, with mildew breath, to blight 

The deep drawn limnings of orange stain. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 49 

Lovely ia lowliness, beautiful things, 

Though torn into shreds for the wild bird's nest, 
Or, weaving no chaplet to bind the brow. 

May pillow the wearied child to rest. 
The trees of the forest, the builder shapes, 

To follow the wake of the foaming wave. 
But where tombstones, like solemn sentinels stand, 

These take up their watch by the lonely grave. 



60 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



LINES TO A FALSE LOVER. 

Since tliou hast learned to look and smile 

Upon another kindly, 
And I have sadly learned the while, 

That I but loved thee blindly ; 
Since from my eyes the vail hath fell, 

That hid a faithless lover, 
Alas ! I ne'er can love as well, 

My dream of love is over. 

Yet, I had lavished fondest love, 

My heart was rich in giving. 
And all deceptive arts above, 

But in thy truth believing: — 

I colder than the touch of death, 
It smote my heart-strings, crushing 

The vital source of love's warm breath ; 
Thy baseness, bare, unblushing. 

My fond heart beats yet fainter now, 
Thau e'er for thee 't was beatins;, 

The guilty semblance of thy brow, 
Its faith no longer cheating : — 

For from my eyes the vail hath fell 
That hid thee, faithless lover, — 

1 never more can love as well. 
My dream of love is over. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 



TIIS STAR OF HOPE. 

A PEERLESS star, that comes flickering by, 

When other bright stars have left the sky, 

Like the sunbeam, it shines when the shadow is near, 

Linked like sorrow and gladness, the smile and the tear. 

When o'er the horizon the heavy cloud looms, 
To the wandering eye, as a beacon it comes. 
And its faintest ray hath a magical power 
To scatter the gloom of the dreariest hour. 

'T is the light that looks down on the ocean of life, 
When its billows are surging with storm, and with strife, 
'T is the bright bow of promise, that 's set in the cloud, 
When the fiery shaft comes, and the thunder is loud. 

It can hush the wild passions, like waters that sleep, 
When the calm layeth soft on the face of the deep. 
Until from the tempest-torn heart will arise, 
The incense of music that reaches the skies. 

Bright star ! when the dreams of the morning shall fade. 
Fairy visions our over-wrought fancy had made, 
Though paler the ray, yet the truer the light. 
Of thy beams as they peer through the pall of the night. 



52 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 

When the hopes that in sunnier hours, were born, 
Die out, as the stars die at breaking of morn, 
Till the raven-like wings that hang brooding shall flee. 
We will turn, unbewildered, and trusting, to thee. 



SONGS OF TUB WEST. 53 



THE SUMMEK LEAF. 

It gently swayed to and fro, 

Swung by the summer air, 
And o'er the yawning depths below, 

It hung as frail as fair. 

But when a ruder breath rushed by. 

It swept the leaf away ; 
And when the storm had left the sky, 

Far from the tree it lay. 

Upon the swollen stream below, 

It floated with the tide ; 
Nor truer did full-sailed barque I know. 

Than that lone leaflet glide. 

Until by circling eddies tossed, 
It reached the farther shore ; 

And even the frantic waters crossed, 
Storm-struck and swept no more. 

As though it were a thing of life, 
From thence a thought did come ; 

To bravely bear each storm and strife. 
We meet away from home. 



54 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



HEHMIOxNE; 

Or, the Heart not at Rest. 

Spirit of woman I Thou of tlie longing lieart, 

Which still, 'mid grosser essence leaves its part. 

Mixed and mysterious, like all things below, 

And but the hardest lesson yet to know, 

Which bears its pain, and throbs, still throbbing on, 

And Life's cold altar thrusts its cares upon; 

As the consuming fires the fiercer blaze. 

Fed by the dry leaves, from the tangled maze, 

Fanned by the wayward winds from each wild plain, 

That laden with life's dust return again, 

To blind the vision of its upward sight, 

With strange comminghng of the day and night. 

Hermione doth whisper : " I ray heart, my life I 
How shall I bear thee through this beating strife ; 
How shall my soul stand straight amid the storm 
Of eddying winds around my shrinking form ? 

The breaking of each heart string, what will stay ? 
Or what will wash these clammy dews away ? 
Or fan the fever heat from the flushed cheek ; 
And calm my restless soul to spirit mcckr' 



SOA^GS OF THE WEST. 55 

The burden of humanity, my own, 

We may not, cannot, do not bear alone ; 

He holds the earth, heart, life, and every fiite. 

And though the curse and blessing sometimes mate, 

The offspring shall be peace, white-robed and pure j 

And more than all the past, or present sure." 

" Believe," the voice hath said, ^' and thou shalt live; 

And all life's mysteries to the Master give." 



5G SOMGS OF THE WEST. 



LAST WORDS. 

*' It is beautiful."— Carrie Rockwood. 

What was "beautiful," dear, to thy closing eye? 
Was 't a vision of paradise flitting by ? 
A realized dream of the Heavenly Land, 
Awakened to see by the Master's Hand ? 

What was "beautiful," dear, a glorified form, 
' That had set a bow in the passing storm. 
Till the cloud was all merged in a silver light, 
As the last dim shadow passed from thy sight ? 

What was "beautiful," dear, the angelic host. 
That vied in its Maker's praises most. 
With which thy beauty and greatness vied, 
The day in which thou wert glorified ? 

What was "beautiful," dear, the starry crown, 
To take the place of the world's rude frown. 
Perpetual June roses with no thorn, 
As thou left 'st behind on that last June morn ? 

What was "beautiful," dear, thy path of light. 
Afar, far over this realm of night, 
Where neither the light of the sun, nor moon. 
Could a lustre add to His cloudless noon ? 



SONGS OF Till: WEST. 57 

What was "beautiful," dear, tlie fiice to face, 
With His indescribable, matchless grace ? 
There is no reply to each thrilling call, 
Although thou art filled with the All in All. 



3* 



68 SOA-^GS OF THE WEST. 



TO THE FALSE HEAETED. 

And thou hast fickle proved at last, 

And false as well could be ; 
A shadow lieth on the past, 

Though filled with thoughts of thee. 
I looked for truth^ but falsehood came, 
And now the magic of thy name ' 

Hath lost its charm for me j 
Perchance a brighter, happier day, 
May dawn when this has passed away. 

Take back the lock of shining hair. 
That hung above thy brow ; 

Like thee, it is as false as fair. 
And cannot please me now. 

I treasure not a gift of thine, 

Nor shall a memory of mine 
Be waked to whisper how 

I weakly listened to thy wiles, 

Lured on by thy deceitful smiles. 

! I have striven to forget 

The deepest wrong of all ; 

But burning thoughts come o'er me yet. 
Which I would ne'er recall. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 59 

Thy sun liatli set no more to rise, 
And daily from the darkened skies, 

Will the dense vapors fall, 
To enshroud thee with their misty light, 
Foreshadowing a deeper night. 



GO SONGS OF THE WEST. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

The evil that men do lives after them."— Spiakespeare. 

Ill-fated Queen of Scotia's isle, 

Within whose sea-girt home, 
Where softest sunbeams slept the while, 

Did deeper shadows come. 

To enshroud her with their misty light 

In darkness all too soon, 
And turn her youthful day to night, 
Ere it had reached its noon. 

But then, the dignity and grace 
With v\diich her fate was met, 

Have won for her a glorious place ; 
Iler sun can never set. 

For, woman-like, she yielded up. 
Honors she should have borne. 

And drank at last the bitter cup 
Of mingled shame and scorn. 

While Britain's proud and pompous Queen, 

Lifted the weapon high. 
And looked upon its glittering sheen, 

With cold and steady eye : 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 61 

She knew full well the murderous blade 

Would leave its shiuiug sheath, 
Which her imperious will had made, 

To do the work of death. 

And was her pillow thornless, say ? 

And dreams, say, had she none 
Of where her captive cousin lay, 

Within her prison lone ? 

Or, can the stain be washed away 

From that right royal page ; 
And guiltless does she stand to-day, 

In this enlightened age ? . 

No ! all her glory cannot hide, 

The cruelty, and shame. 
The strange abuse of power and pride. 

That mingles with her name. 

She was the daughter of a sire. 

Who had a thirst for blood. 
And from the victims of his ire, 

It flowed a fearful flood. 

She saw her mother's life crushed out, 

In her young infant time ; 
And deeds, perhaps she ne'er had thought, 

Were fostered in her prime. 



02 SOJVGS OF THE WEST. 

She saw lier sister's bloody hand, 
Imbrued in England's gore ; 

And was it strange, that she should stand 
Where such had stood before ? 

But, turn we from the appalling sight, 

To gentle Mary's tomb ; 
Whose hopeful spirit, in its flight. 

Relieves the gathering gloom. 

As meekly she knelt down that day. 

Upon a scaffold high. 
And gave her precious life away. 

And taught us how to die. 



SO^'GS OF THE WEST. G3 



LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 

Slowly now tlie wing of darkness, 
G-athers on the tired sight ; 

But the eye can bear its softness, 
Better than the garish light. 

Not alone the noon-day splendor, 
Would the eye when weary, meet. 

Watching for the lengthening shadows 
All along the dusty street. 

Watching, waiting for the morning, 
Clear and calm, and sweet and still ; 

When the dew drops idly lingering, 
Meet the sunlight on the hill. 

All night long they softly nestled, 
Where the sweetest flowers lay, 

To imbibe their balmy fragrance, 
Taking all the dust away. 

When the blight of years is creeping. 
O'er the verdure of the mind ', 

May the dew as gently falling, 

Youth and freshness leave behind. 



64 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Blotting out the dingy waymarks, 
That have gathered on the sight, 

All the lurking, lingering shadows, 
Of the darkness and the light. 



SOJVGS OF TUB WEST. 65 



I Sma TO THEE. 

When tlie moon is up in tlie starry sky, 
And the gentle breeze comes whispering by, 
Like the touch of harp strings mournfully, 
I sing to thee. 

When the stars are shining clear and bright, 
In the calm, the still, the sweet moonlight, 
'Mid the voices of the shadowy night, 
I sing to thee. 

Chanting a song of a bygone-day. 
Of one so loved — away, away — 
Thou canst not hear the murmuring lay, 
I sing to thee. 

As the magic touch of fairy fingers. 
O'er a silent lute where music lingers, 
Or the silvery tones of sweet-voiced singers, 
I 'd sing to thee. 

Like echoes o'er the blue wave stealing, 
Now faintly far, now closely pealing. 
So, echoes of the heart revealing, 

I 'd sins; to thee. . 



G6 SONGS OF TUB WEST. 

Give back tliy voice — where art thou keeping ? 
What shadow o'er thy spirit sleeping ? 
Answer as sounds so wildly sweeping, 
I sing to thee. 

Nor cease my song — oh, never, never ! 
Though many a wave and mountain sever 
Our kindred hearts, forever, ever, 

I sing to thee, to thee. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 67 



TRIBUTE. . 

TO ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

Amid tlie sunshine and the showers ; 
When lo 1 upon the winged hours, 

There came a solemn knell ; 

Like some strange, startling spell, 
Sadly, yet sweetly to my ear, 
And, wonderingly, T paused to hear, 

Each widely deepening swell. 



In echoes from thy far-off grave ; 
From the damp, heavy sods, 
From the cumbrous valley clods, 

That fell upon thy coffin lid, 

And from our gaze thy light form hid; 
^ No longer ours, hut God's. 

" Not here, but risen," I heard the tone 

And saw the undimmed light that shone, 

From " Casa Guidi Windows; " 

O'er all the pleasant meadows. 

Bright as the sun's last setting rays, 

Refulgent most at close of days, 

Just nt the dawn of shadows. 



G8 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Thus brightly set tliine earthly sun, 
Most glorious -when thy race was run, 

And through the realms elysian, 

Thou saw 'st the " Eternal vision ; " 
So beautiful thou didst express, 

One passing word with us to impress. 

Thy glorified transition. 

Upon whom did thy mantle fall ? 
Where here we sing, thou queen of all ; 

As erst the Prophet's fell. 

Begetting like a spell, 
AYithin the blest one kindred lore ; 
Alas ! like thee who singeth more ? 

And who can sing as well ? 

AYould I one ray from thy wing might see, 
Would I one song might sing like thee ; 

One beautiful refrain, 

Repeated o'er again. 
Till it should seem Phoenix-like, it came 
From the ashes that have borne thy name, 

Dead, but alive a2,aiu. A 



SO^''GS OF THE WEST. G9 



THE BURIAL BELL. 

" Mournfully, mournfully tolleth the bell, 
Yes, mournfully, mournfully chimeth it well. 

Toll, toll, toll, 
A knell for tlie dead, the dead, 
And strike all hearts with dread. 
For the feast of death is spread, 
The last sad service read, 
And around the coffined head, 
The feet of the mourners tread; 

Toll, toll, toll. 
Ring out a requiem grand, 
For the mourning in the land. 
There is a sorrowing band, 
That round a low bier stand. 

Toll fast, toll slow. 

Toll loud, toll low, 

The echoes throw 
m O'er the vale below, 

Down in the shadowy dale, 
Where they gather the lilies pale, 
And where sighs the gentle gale ; 

Toll, toll, toll. 

Toll, toll, toll, 
For the infant on its bier. 
For the stricken mother's tear, 



SONGS OF THE VrEST. 

For the little brother's fear, 
When the sable hearse comes near, 
When the falling clods they hear, 
DoYv'n in the grave-yard drear ; 

Toll, toll, toll. 
Ring with a muffled knell ; 
With a gently rounded swell ; 
Only enough to tell. 
That it doth with the angels dwell. 

Toll low, toll low. 

Toll low, toll low ; 

Lest the sound should start 

Blood from the heart 
Of the mother wild with woe^ 
For her darling lying low. 
Where the blue-eyed violets grow, 

Toll, toll, toll. 

Toll, toll, toll. 
For the maiden in her prime. 
Cut off in youth's sweet time, 
In her years' young summer time 
Like a flower in foreign clime, 
Strike with a sound sublime. 
Unmixed with vulgar rime ; 

Toll, toll, toll. 
Ring for the shortened space. 
That earth beheld her face ; 
For the sweet and matchless grace 
That lies covered on her face. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 71 

Toll soft, toll sweet, 

Toll true, toll meet, 

For the maiden fair 

With her braided hair ; 
For they hid her curls away, 
Where the midnight vapors play. 
And the sombre shadows lay ; 

Toll, toll, toll. 

Toll, toll, toll, 
Thy strokes for the aged sire, 
Three-score and never tire ; 
Let him that works the wire, 
Ne'er faint, nor fail with ire, 
But to the task aspire. 
Which thy behests require ; 

Toll, toll, toll. 
Ring out full three-score times 
Yea, seventy counted chimes. 
Let the ever changing chimes. 
Be struck full seventy times ; 

Toll hard, toll high, 

Toll far, toll nigh, 

For the hoary head, 

For the aged dead 
To a new creation born, 
As a ripened shock of corn 
Is gathered in at morn ; 

Toll, toll, toll. 



72 SOXGS OF THE WE SI. 

Toll, toll, toll, 
Ilark ! how tlie echoes fly. 
Hark ! how they tremble by ; 
Hark ! how the mourners cry ; 
No eye to-day is dry ; 
Let the stout hearted try, 
To smother the sad bell's cry, 

Toll, toll, toll. 
Ring on thou answering bell. 
Aloud on the breezes swell. 
O'er hill and shadowy dell ; 
A sad and sorrowful knell, 
Toll soft, toll sad. 
Toll free, toll glad. 
Each varying strain. 
Again, and again ; 
Joy for a soul in heaven. 
Grief for the hearts bereaven, 
All through the morn and even. 
Toll, toll, toll. 

Toll, toll, toll, 
So loud that all may hear, 
And quake with pallid fear, 
When the sounds fall on their ear, 
Of the death knell coming near ; 
Ring out so full and clear, 
That the deafest ear can hear. 

Toll, toll, toll ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Ring on thou tuneful tongue, 
By a skillful master swung, 
And high in the belfry hung, 
Till the last song is sung. 

Toll sad, toll soft, 

Toll far, toll oft, 

The unceasing knell. 

And ever tell 
How a weary one found rest ; 
Where the grassy clods are prest 
In a valley of the West; 

Toll, toll, toll. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE FAR-AWAY LAND. 

Ye have heard, ye have heard, of the far-away land. 

Arrayed in perennial green ; 
Of the barques in the bay that awaiting- stand. 

Of the river that runs between. 

Ye have heard, ye have heard, of the flowers that grow 

On its high, but its viewless shore; 
Have ye heard the tramp of the feet below, 

Of the myriads going before ? 

Ye have heard, ye have heard, of the streets of gold, 
And the crowns more golden than they ; 

For the tale of this City is centuries old, 
And it lies in the land far away. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 73 



THE YALLEY OF SHADOY^S. 

Ye liave heard of the Yalley of Shadows, 
Over measureless space it is spread ; 

With no blooming bosom of verdure, 
Nor green branches hanging o'erhead ; 

For the sun shineth not, and the vapors 

Lie over the valley so deep, 
That they cover each devious pathway, 

With a solemn and mystical sweep. 

A cold river glides through the Yalley, 
And it ceaseth never to flow ; 

As bare feet pearly in whiteness 
Step down in the depths below ; 

And fornjis that are whiter and paler, 
Bathe in the mysterious tide ; 

While myriads are coming and coming 
To the brink of the cold river's side. 

For there is a beautiful country. 
Far beyond, but still it is near ', 

Y'^here the sun shines ever in brightness, 
Undimmed by a sigh or a tear; 



74 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

So tlie myriads press onward and onward 
Through the valley and cold river's bed ; 

^T is by a Beatified Presence, 

Their wandering footsteps are led. 

When down through the mists of the valley 
The shadows are gathering fast, 

Never fear, for this beautiful country 
Is gained, when its shadows are past. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 75 



THE BRIDAL OF DEATH. 

The following poem was written on the occasion of the death 
of the daughter of Gov Pickens, of South Carolina, who was 
killed by a shell daring the performance of the marriage 
ceremony : 

A BANQUET room was opened, 

A merry feast was spread ; 
A man of Glod in priestly robes 

The marriage service read ; 
A maiden fair as morning, 

Too fair for this low sphere ; 
Awhile the festal rites went on. 

Stood at the altar there. 

She stood in youth's adornment, 

And in the pride of worth ; 
Prepared a final step to take, 

From the home shelter forth ; 
The sealing words were on her lips. 

Just parted to reply ; 
Wh«n lo ! a burning shell was hurled 

Along the silent sky. 

It was to that fair maiden 

A harbinger of doom ; 
The maddening missile clove its way. 

Within that banquet room ; 



SO.XGS OF THE WEST. 

The bridal group were severed, 

The binding vows unsaid ; 
Pierced to the heart where late they stood, 

The prostrate maiden laid. 

'• She dies I" cried they in sorrow, 

Betrothed and parents dear ; 
While pallid lip and blanching cheek 

Betrayed each anxious fear ; 
In speechless woe they watched her, 

Amid the parting strife ; 
As still the flowing blood unloosed 

The tender springs of life. 

" Ah I must I die V she murmured, 

'^ Is this my bridal bed ? 
If so to die be glorious e'er, 

And blood be nobly shed ; 
I will be brave I '' she faltered, 

" Though death be on my brow ; 
For life is past, and I accept 

The fate left to me now." 

The bridal group regathered^ 

Hands clasped in union close ; 
Only a moment could it be, 

The priest in prayer uprose ; 
'' Will ye wed unto each other ? " 

The marriage service read, 
The gasping lips responded — "yes," 

The bride was with the dead. 



SO^YGS OF THE WEST. 



KEMEMBRANCE. 

We miss from our daily pathway 

The tread of familiar feet, 
And the echo of well-knowa voices. 

The ear had been wont to greet, 
As still in the heart they linger, 

With a mem'ry sad and sweet. 

We miss them at evening ramble, 
When the stars are clear and bright, 

And the j^ale fair moon is shining 
With a soft and silvery light ; 

But they all look dim since loved ones, 
Have faded from our sight. 

We miss them, too, when the morning 
Comes with its welcome beams, 

To gladden the hill and the valley, 
And lighten the rippling strean-.s; 

But still we find that all tokens 
Have vanished, hke our dreams. 

We miss, we shall miss them ever, 
And but their memories keep, 

Like the odour of withered flowers. 
Or like music's chord that sleep ; 

So the sunshine leaves but shadows. 
For the lonely heart to weep. 



78 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



A MEMORIAL. 

The following poem is respectfully dedicated to Mrs. A. C. 
Hoffman, the mother of Charles Pearl Wright, who was 
killed at the battle of Bristow, Virginia, October 12th, 1863. 

October's pallid, hazy sun, 

High o'er its zenith soared, 
And Biistovy^'s battle had begun, 

The deafening cannon roared ; 
The crash of arms, with thunder tone, 

Rung on the quivering air, 
-As, mid the rushing ranks was one, 

A youth, both young and fair. 

A youth, both young and fair, was he 

Of but a score of years ; 
But of such soul of bravery, 

That yielded ne'er to fears ; 
Yet when the bloody battle raged, 

The showering shot and shell; 
Where valor wrought, and warfare waged, 

He Hves not now to tell. 

For foeman's aim was true that day, 

Alas ! alas I too true ; 
With shattered limbs that loved youth lay, 

With cheek of ashen hue ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 79 

They bore him from the sweltering gims, 

But death was on his brow, 
And where the Rappahannock runs, 

He sleeps in silence now. 

" God! dear mother — Ada — love/' 

He faltered, "no more joy," 
As Azrael spread his wings above 

The dying soldier boy. 
No orange flowers, of golden hue, 

For Ada e'er will bloom. 
Since heaven's most etherial blue 

Shines on her lover's tomb. 

A widowed mother, far away, 

Waits by her lonely door ] 
But vainly does she watch and pray, 

Her boy will come no more ; 
The light from his blue eye is gone ; 

No fluttering pulses stir 
The kindred love, whose mystic tone 

His spirit caught from her. 

His last adieu, ah, well ! ah, well ! 

May she those last words heed ; 
For they may wield a magic spell. 

In this, her hour of need ; 
Such were they, " mother, should I die, 

As chances are in war ', 
On the battle-field pray let me lie, 

Where 'er my comrades are. 



80 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Mother, we part, and well I know 

Such parting gives you pain, 
Perchance to meet no more below, 

Perhaps to meet again ; 
My country's call rings on my ear, 

Like a loud clarion swell; 
And I must go, the hour is near; 

Mother, farewell, farewell." 

He went, her boy went to the war, 

And none more brave before, 
To mingle in rude scenes afar ; 

To come back, nevermore. 
October suns may rise and set, 

Till all life's skies grow dim ; 
But ne'er again will she forget 

The sun that set for him. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 81 



THE BAPTISM. 

Slowly and solemnly they wound along 

The dusty pathway, lined with ancient trees 

Of oak and maple, and the lighter shades 

Well interspersed by the Great Limner's Hand, 

Earth's picture to complete with skill inimitable; 

'Mong which the graceful elm bent very low 

Its swaying branches, as in token of 

Reverence to the small group that sought the walls 

Of the old gray stone church beneath the hill, 

Whose arched gateway groaned beneath the weight 

Of woodbine boughs with ivy intertwined, 

And fragrant honeysuckle climbing through 

The sunlit interstices, making a 

Soft sweet shadow, o'er so sweet a scene : 

A shadow falling o'er the gothic lights, 

Which stretched along the building, screening it 

From too sudden, and too rude a prospect ; 

And withal weaving a curtain, as it were. 

To obstruct prying eyes from peering through, 

When he, the holy man, with hoary head. 

Should bow himself in consecrated prayer, 

With outstretched hands pleading the favor of heaven, 

Or break the bread, or pour the symboled cup. 

Or minister in aught of him required. 

Who stood between the people and their God. 
4 * 



82 SOKGS OF THE WEST. 

Thither the train arrived, with chastened step, 

As Moses with unsandled feet once trod 

Within His sight, they in like spirit stood 

In the presence chamber of the King of Kings. 

The good man bent in prayer, and then they sung 

A sweet psalm, and the organ's thrilling tone 

Trembled upon the air, till the vibration 

Of its low undertones shook with aspen touch 

The wreathing branches by the sheltering eaves, 

And startled from the turret bare, a brood 

Of twittering swallows, incubated there. 

It ceased, the venerable pastor said, 

" Let her that in her youthful days doth now 

Be dedicate unto her Father, God, 

Come forth, and stand beside the altar here.'' 

A fair young maiden, over whom the space 

Of sixteen summers had swept their course serene. 

With brow as light as sunrise in the east. 

And heart as pure -as snow shed from the skies, 

Stepped forth, and with a blush of modesty. 

Tripped down the long aisle, gently laying aside 

Her rustic hat and veil that with more ease 

The holy man might sprinkle water on 

The bared forehelid, as a sacred seal 

Of the covenant which she now did make. 

Between her and her Maker evermore. 

A pause, and then another fair young girl, 

Of scarcely twelve years stood by her sister's side. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 83 

With trepidation none the more allayed 
By the holy cause to which her soul was bont, 
For she was young in years, and many eyes, 
Perhaps some curious, were on them fixed, 
Questioning if such young disciples knew 
The force and meaning of those outward signs, 
The fount of water, the immersed hand, 
The sprinkled forehead, and the solemn words ; 
" I do baptise thee in the name of God, 
And of the Son, and Holy Ghost, amen." 

The ceremony ended, closed with prayer, 
And many exhortations wisely given 
To walk in ways becoming godliness ; 
Henceforth to eschew evil things and deeds ; 
Entreated to become as " shining lights,'' 
Shedding a beam of brightness o'er each scene, 
By the wayside, or within the walls of home, 
On which some darkened soul might look and say, 
" Ye are indeed the light of a sinful world." 

God ! our Father, our Creator, Lord ! 
Supreme in heaven above, on earth below : 
To thee henceforth be consecrate our powers ; 
All that we are, or hope to be, are thine. 

! gray stone church, embosomed in the vale. 
Blest be thy portal, that opes wide to greet 
The young disciple, as a mother doth 
Take to her bosom fond, her child beloved; 
Cherish and nourish it with a tender care. 



84 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

gray-haired pastor, long since gone to rest, 
May we the precious privilege enjoy, 
To drop beside thy tomb one stainless flower, 
Plucked from the portals of thine altar here ; 
And when our souls shall leave this lower sphere, 
May we enter the gates of heaven by thy side. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 85 



TO A SEA SHELL. 

Child of the distant ocean wave, 

Thou dweller of the sea, 
Hidden in many a coral cave, 
Down where the crystal waters lave, 
And wrap in mystery. 

Within thy cell the flowing main 

Comes back to me in sound ; 
Whene'er my listening ear hath lain 
To thee, it caught the conscious strain, 
It nowhere else hath found. 

Thy chambers fill my soul with awe, 

As doth the mighty deep. 
From whence my varying fancies draw 
Conceptions of the boundless law, 
That doth its secrets keep. 

Unlock to me thy hidden lore. 

Mysterious, sublime; 
I fain would each fair scene explore, 
And o'er each page delighted pour. 

Of thine own fairy clime. 



8G SONGS OF THE WEST. 

What siren sung witliin thy halls 

Sweet-toned as any bird, 
The echo of whose voice still calls, 
In murmurs that my spirit thralls 
As e'er by music stirred ? 

What chronicles of lineage rare 
Do thine archives enrol ; 
Thus hidden from too rude a stare. 
The curious and vulgar glare, 

A pure and stainless scroll ? 

What pearl-bright cave in ocean's bed, 

Was erst thy dwelling place ; 
What dark-eyed mermaid thence was led 
A beauty o'er the scene to shed 

With her unrivaled grace ? 

1 tell me, if adown below 

The surging waters' strife, 
The amber halls their radiance throw. 
And if harmoniously they flow 

The leaping waves of life. 

Or, if contorting passions sway 

The palaces of the deep ; 
Or if, far from the light of day. 
Where twilight shades in lightness lay, 
Forever more they sleep ? 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 87 

Bright sea shell of the ocean wave, 

Come whisper it to me ; 
Is there in yonder depths a grave, 
O'er which the lawless waters rave, 

And leap resistlessly ? 

Hast thou e'er moaned above the dead ? 

Wrecked on a lonely shore. 
Around which tattered sails were spread, 
As filled with fear, and mortal dread. 

They sunk to rise no more ? 

A requiem wailed o'er wasted life. 

From out the ranks of men ; 
The panting heart, the parting strife. 
The woe with which the world is rife. 

What voices gav'st thou then ? 

Hast with the sea-nymphs chorus blent 

A low and sweet refrain, 
A dirge-like lute, forever lent 
To music, and forever bent 

Upon the same wild strain ? 

Say, does the sea-nymph bind her hair 

With greenest sea-weed leaf. 
With tiaras and tokens fair. 
To climb the blue wave's silver stair, 

And mount each coral reef ? 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Answer : for tliou hast come from whence 
The nymphs and naiads reign ; 

Some unknown hand hath brought thee thence, 

Bearing thine only recompense, 

The sound of the flowing main. 

Give answer back, thou moaning shell, 

Thou of the mournful tone ; 
Far from the billows' dashing swell, 
With sprightly fancy's wayward spell, 

Thy voice can charm alone. 

Thou wrap'st my soul in wonder still, 
Thy beauty thrills my sight ; 

With effort wearied, wasted, till 

Idly unnumbered measures fill 

The fancies thou hast wroujrht. 



•^^:^' 



Child of the distant ocean wave , 
Thou dweller of the sea, 
Moan for each desolated cave. 
But vainly as my fancies have 
To solve thy mystery. 



SOaVGS of the west. 89 



MY NATIVE LAND. 

Oh ! my native land, I love tliee 

For the birth-right thou hast given 
For thy great gift proven worthy, 

Hourly toiling have I striven ; 
Oft hath mine eye sought the pinions 

Of thine eagle towering high, 
Far above thy broad dominions. 

Heralding thy "glory nigh. 

Oh ! my native land, I love thee 

With a love I ne'er can tell ; 
All thy virtues rise before me. 

Till my soul with joy doth swell 
With excess of deep emotion ; 

Of affection fond and free; 
Such my soul's most pure devotion, 

Given, my native land, to thee. 



90 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



LITTLE MATTIE. 

Sleep little Mattie ! 
Sweetly sleep ; 
Dear mother earth, 
My darling keep ; 
Through sun and storm, through wind and tide, 
Draw her the closer to thy side, 

Sleep, little Mattie, sleep. 

Sleep, little Mattie, 

Softly sleep ; 
Dear mother earth 

My darling keep ; 
And when the winds blow, softly hide 
My lost one 'ueath thy sheltering side, 
Sleep, little Mattie, sleep. 



SONGS OF THE WEST, 91 



A PARTING GIFT. 

Let it be a token from me, dear friend, 

Let it be a token from me 
Of my love to thee when I am gone, 
Oh ! treasure it highly, and when alone. 
As thou lookest upon it with joy and pride, 
And I am no longer by thy side, 

Let it be a token from me. 

Let it be a memento of me, dear friend, 

Let it be a memento of me, 
When to thee I shall live but in the past. 
And a shadow o'er our fond love is cast. 
May thy frequent gaze on the sweet gift be, 
As loving as once I bent on thee. 

Let it be a memento of me. 

Let it be a memory of me, dear friend, 

Let it be a memory of me, 
To call to remembrance the beautiful love, 
AVhich may be renewed and restored above, 
For our home is not here, but beyond the tide. 
And until we meet on the other side. 

Let it be a memory of me. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



STARLIT SKIES. 

How beautiful the starlit skies, 

How glorious to see 
Such myriads of orbs arise 

In their infinity, 
Sj^arkling upon the brow of night, 

Like coronets in a crown, 
And who that loves their twinkling light, 

Cares if the sun go down. 

One sweet spring eve, long time ago, 

Is well remembered yet ; 
Impressed on memory's tablet, so 

That I could ne'er forget ; 
For Ralph and I together strayed 

Along the starlit sands, 
And loving words till late delayed 

That lingering clasp of hands. 

The village maids my lover eyed. 

Admiringly, and oft; 
But still he wooed me for his bride, 

With language sweet and soft ; 
Till the giant honeysuckle grew. 

High o'er the stately sill; 
And the berry trees their treasures threw. 

Fair Autumn's lap to fill. 



SOXGS OmTHE WEST. 

My manly Ralpli and I were wed ; 

For else how could it be ? 
Alas ! tliose blissful scenes are fled, 

Days doubly dear to me ; 
And now on each starliglited night, 

With sables for a crown, 
I care not for the stars twinkling light, 

Nor if the sun go down. 



94 SOA^GS OF TBE WUST. 



THE LOCK OF HAIR. 

" But still the heart will haunt the well, 
"Wherein the golden bowl lies broken; 
And treasure in its nari'ow cell, 
The Past's most loved, and holj^ token." 

! HEAVEN above ; 
Where dost tlioii hide away the loved and lovely ? 

I azure skies; 
Dost thou reflect those orbs of blue above me ? 
Tell me, ! tell me now, 

Of her, my lost one, where. 
Within thy portals, 

Thou hast my treasure there. 

The seraph band. 
Hath not within its shining circle any 

That can out-vie 
My angel, God ! how many, many ; 
Why didst Thou take to Thee 

My precious jewel fair. 
And leave to me, 

Only this lock of hair. 

Why snatch the dew drop 
From off the fresh and radiant brow of morning ; 

The spring flower 
The glowing bosom of the May adorning ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 95 



Leaving tlie empty cup ? 

Tlie memory of an hour ; 
The setting of the gem, 

This only is mi/ dower. 



Why not have waited 
Until life's sparkhng drops were sullen growing, 

Or darker blight, 
Over the sweet and blushing jQlow'ret throwing ? 
Then take and purify, 

The pearl-drop turned to tears ; 
The flower revivify. 

Through all the fleeting years. 

This golden ringlet 
Hath lost its lustre, though with careful keeping ; 

Rudely dissevered 
From its kindred curls, along the sweet dust sleeping. 
How like profanity. 

Its taking seemed to me. 
Cruel despoiling, 

O ! why, why should it be ? 

! passionate heart, 
Thou canst not still thy sad and ceaseless beating, 

Or stay this pulse. 
With painful fulness evermore repleting : 
She was so beautiful. 
So very, very fair, 
It seems just like her; 
This lock of wavy hair. 



I 



96 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



PAST PLEASURES. 

Like tlie faded leaves of a summer flower, 
As scattered around tliey lay ; 
Which nor time nor pain, 
May gather again, 
The transient things of an hour. 

Like the perfume of roses whose bloom is fled 
With the balmy breath of the June ; 

Grone hand in hand 

With the floral band, 
And forever gone too soon. 

Like the sparkling drop from the crystal fount. 
To the sun's most fervid ray, 
Which drinketh up, 
From the shining cup, 
The pearly drop ere it stay. 

Like the rill that glideth away, away, 
As fast as the summer time ; 
With its silvery feet, 
From the snow and the sleet, 
Unchained to another clime. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 97 

Like the plumed wiugs of the wandering bird, 
To its swiftest flight in the skj ; 
Where the orange groves 
Hears its song of loves, 
As the softest gales sweep by. 

Like the whisper of love to the listening ear, 
At eve by the moonlit shore ; 

Where the rippling waves, 

To their ocean caves, 
Recede, and are heard no more. 

Like the meteor glance through the azure dome. 
As the evanescent light 

For a moment gleams, 

Then the transient beams. 
Are lost in the lapse of night. 

Like all things beautifal, that die, 
Like all things false yet fair; 

Like human life, 

Like the pulse's strife, 
Like all in the earth and air. 



98 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE IDEAL. 

A BEAUTIFUL Spell that encircles me round, 
I listen to hear it in every sound, 
I look far and near me, and think it is there, 
Below, high above me, and everywhere. 



SONGS OF THE WEST, 99 



THE REAL. 

I DREAM no more, for tlie toucli of a hand 
Arouses my sense, as I doubtingly stand, 
As, grasping at shadows, the substance, I nnd, 
Lays not in the limitless depths of the mind. 



aCJO SONGS OF THE WEST. 



EGEEIA. 

Egeria, lost Egeria, 

I no, not lost, but found, 
Lost on earth but found in heaven, 

'T is a long familiar sound ; 
Though angels hover around thee, 

And the sweetest seraphs sing, 
I can hear their silvery voices, 

1 can feel each rustling wing. 

Egeria, sweet Egeria, 

I have counted the hours alway, 
Each morning, noon and evening, 

Since our tearless farewell day. 
Because they all bring me nearer 

To the Better Land and thee. 
And I know that within the gateway 

Thou art waiting ever for me. 

Egeria, loved Egeria, 

Death's waters can ne'er divide, 
And my heart's deep faith is stronger, 

Than when sitting near thy side ; 
Too near a view oft hindereth 

That which we had aimed to see, 
And the distance is only begetting 

A more vivid view of thee. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 101 



WHY MOURNS MY HEART? 

"Why mourns my heart for vanished joys ? 

Why is my spirit pining 
For the dead Hghts of other years, 

When some bright stars are shining ? 

Though dimning shades are stretching down 

The vista time is treading, 
Some lingering sunshine from the skies 

O'er all the scene is spreading. 

A spot of brightness here and there, 

Among the looming shadows : 
Some flowers are clustered with the thorns 
Among the pleasant meadows. 

The echo of a lightsome song, 

Comes down the valley ringing, 

To mingle with the low, sad wail. 

The burdened years are bringing 

The memory of a far-off dream, 

Like a sweet wood-nymph fairy 

That plays around the darkened heart, 
With footsteps light and airy. 



102 SO^'GS OF TEE WEST. 

Ah ! well, then, let the past be past, 
Improve the waiting present ; 

Each inch of time, each moment's space, 
Ara fleeting, evanescent. 



\l ^ 



SONGS OF THE WEST, 103 



SIGHING FOR HOME. 

The heart felt pining for home, sweet home, 
For the love which only from its realm can come, 
For the faded light of its friendly roof, 
The friends that ne'er strangely stood aloof; 
'T is a spell never broken where ^er we roam. 

Sighing for home, sighing for home. 

No flower so fair as the dear home one. 
That grew in the shade of the old hearth stone ; 
No water so clear as the sparkling draught 
From the well far down in the meadow brought; 
! those memories tearful how fast they come, 
Sighing for home, sighing for home. 

Where, where is the past with its gilded toys ? 
And the future is where, with its untried joys? 
! the past hath gone to the silent bourne, 
And to-morrow if it for us return, 
Will be only as pilgrims still to roam. 

Sighing for home, sighing for home. 



104 SONGS OF TEE WEST, 



MEMENTO MORI. 

Rest sweetly here, thou angel child, 

Rest, for thy race is run ; 
Thy little race of one short day, 

Finished, ere scarce hegun ; 
Rest, peradventure it was long, 

If life's true ends were met; 
So shall no sorrow mar the song, 

That thy life's sun hath set. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 105 



THE MANIAC. 

Stern war was in tlie land, and it had turned 
The tides of Hfe into the floods of death, 
Which washed away in their resistless flow, 
Home, hearth, and love, and life, demolished all 
Like cities swept before the lava fire, 
That burst from out the burning crater's bed, 
From the old mountain, that looked firm and strong, 
Whose snowy peak went up to meet the skies ; 
Unstained by the red rage, and so it was, 
That darker ruin had o'erspread the land ; 
And all along the white hills of the north. 
And through the verdant mountains of the east. 
And from the boundless prairies of the west. 
Battalions formed, and marched to beat of drum, 
Canopied by the banner of the free. 

It was a solemn time of sad farewells 
And last leave-takings, for, ! nevermore 
Would father, husband, lover, friend, or brother, 
Return from carnage dread to fond embrace 
Of dear ones left behind ; 'stead of love's impress. 
The grape and bombshell left their murderous work, 
When hostile armies met, brother 'gainst brother, 
6* 



106 ,SO^''GS OF THE WEST. 

All ties forgotten in the bloody strife, 
As if they ne'er had met on earth before. 
! time of horror, when the child of years 
Was stricken by the one that woke his life ] 
And when the petted son to stature p;rown, 
Should pierce the breast of him who was his sire ; 
But so it was, and all the ranks were filled, 
And none might like a coward hide away. 

So, when the watchword "Liberty" rose in air, 

Millions of feet to marching orders trod ; 

And none for aught might leave his vantage ground, 

Or doing so, must risk the pain of death. 

Still there were many : but of a youth we speak, 

That looked back from the fiery fray, and sought 

To fly to some dear spot in quiet shade, 

Far from the cannon's roar, and smoke and dust ; 

And he deserted from his post and fled. 

To be brought back and tried by martial court j 

Guilty he was pronounced, and suffer must 

The S3ntence of the law, though stern and hard, 

To be example made, lest others should 

Take license in the mode thai he had done. 

In tearless agony, waiting for his doom, 
The beaded drops oozed from his pale brow, 
Wrung out by the intensity of fear 
That seized him in that moment of despair. 
The instant when the fearful word of deiith 



SONGS OF IHE WEST. 107 

"Was said, another broke upon Lis ear : 

'T was "pardon." Saddcnl}' all eyes were turned 

Toward a distant hill ; ii horseman fast, 

Faster and faster still, came rushing on. 

Waving a paper higli and shouting -pardon." 

The guns discharged in air, the prisoner fell, 

His life was saved, but reason fled forever. 



108. SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



STANZAS.- 

Take, take this lovely flower, sweet friend, 
■ And when my face is far away, 

As sunlight where the dew drops lay, 
It will the rainbow's radiance lend. 

And when its fragrance charmeth thee, 
Like to some strange, forgotten spell, 
Remember that I loved thee well ; 

And then, ! then, remember me. 

But, should its petals droop and die, 
Like exiled hearts away from home. 
Let not decay thy heart o'ercome, 

Nor thou my constant faiti: belie. 

Remember that my love was true, 
And never skilled in faltering ways; 
If ever in thy heart it lays. 

No more than this could be my due. 



Ah ! soft and calm when sighs the gale, 
In zephyrs o'er some flowery bed, 
As when true lovers' steps are led, 

And linger 'neath the moonbeams pale ; 



X \ 



SOiYGS OF THE WEST. 109 

Let each day's briglit sun's golden beam, 

Be dim beside its sweet love-light, 

Aud ia the shadow of the night. 
Still flowing like a constant stream. 

If, like a simple fading flower. 
The emblem of thy love for me, 
Let mine si ill pure and changeless be, 

Though thine could perish in an hour. 



110 SONGS OF TEE WEST. 



A DIRGE. 



Written on the death of Mrs. Dk. Baker, and respectfully- 
dedicated to hex* mother. 



Gone, gone, gone, 

Just in the flush of life, 
Fond daughter, sister, wife, 
Ties severed, one by one. 
And none so strong as to resist the call 
Of the grim monarch whose voice summons all. 

Gone, gone, gone. 
Into the Silent Land, 
Awhile we waiting stand. 
Death claimed her for his own ; 
And now her feet have reached the farther shore, 
Where dark disease and death invade no more. 

Gone, gone, gone. 

To meet beloved ones there, 
Leaving the cherished here, 
To sigh in sad, low tone. 
With but a mournful memory to keep; 
Tha loved and lovia^ o'er her dust to w;iep. 



ii^ONGS OF THE WEST. Ill 

Gone, gone, gone, 

Beneath tlie grassy sod ; 
The path that she hath trod 
We all must tread alone ; 
The valley dim, across the death-cold wave. 
The lingering gloom, the darkness of the grave. 



112 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



OH ! COME TO ME IN THE SPRING TIME. 

Oh ! come to me in the spring time, 
AVhen the early birds do come ; 

When the marten, and the robin, 
And the wren are flying home. 

"When the south wind blows so gently, 

To kiss the weary brow, 
Where the stormy days of winter 

Have left their traces now. 

Come when the earliest flowers 
Are springing fresh and fair, 

When the violet and the butter-cup. 
With fragrance fill the air. 

When the sunshine is the brightest, 
And the days are long and still, 

And the spirit is the lightest, 

And sweet thoughts the bosom fill. '^ 

Come when the grass is springing 
From the soft and yielding ground. 

When the joyous earth is ringing 
Her voices all around. 



SOUGS OF JEE WEST. - 113 

When all things are full of gladness, 

And awake a thought of thee, 
Mocking even a thought of sadness, 

Then come, oh ! come to me. 



114 • SONGS OF THE WEST. 



ODE TO BYEON. 

O I WHERE is ho whose d3dDg song 

Swept o'er the ocean wave ? 
Sleeps he his country's tombs among? 

Where shall we find his grave ? 

A voluntary exile he 

From Albion's hills and dales, 
To gladden with his minstrelsy 

Loved Grecia's distant vales. 

The son of genius and of fame, 

A bright and shining star^ 
The lustre of whose well earned name 

Reaches to realms afar. 

The son of sorrow and of pain, 

Of anguish dire and deep; 
And scarce a tear to wash the stain. 

Or scarce ?.n eye to weep. 

Victim of unrequited love, . 

Afitction unreturned, 
Who could the heart's deep fountains move 

While quenchless fires burned ? 



SOKGS OF THE WEST, 116 

Burned fiercely wlieresoe'er went he, 

Whether abroad, at home, 
By land, or on the raging sea, 

Would those dark visions come. 

To make the darkness deeper still, 

Deeper the cup of woe, 
To drink the dregs with greedy fill, 

And still no respite know. 

Oh ! lonely, spirit broken one, 

How sleepest thou lo-day, 
While the dim years are fleeting on 

As fleeted thine away ? 

Oh ! sweetest bard of Albion's isle, 

Who touched with master hand 
Thy lyre, to many a woe beguile, 

We miss thee from the land. 

We miss thee when the stars at morn 

Pale from the kindhng sky ; 
When tenderest, truest thoughts are born, 

^T is then we miss thine eye. 

We miss thee when at highest noon, 

The sultry sun aspires 3 
And when he sets, and when the moon 

Puts on her milder fires. 



116 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

We miss thee when the chainless winds 
Like spirits tread the earth ; 

When lightnings flash, and darkness binds, 
And darker thoughts have birth. 

When thunders roll, and oceans surge, . 

And breakers fiercely glide ; 
When angry storms its barks submerge, 

We miss thee from the tide. 

But more we miss thee, when the heart 

A shattered ruin lies ; 
A wreck, from which no human art 

Can rescue, as it dies. 

No hand can bind the bleeding wound, 
As thine the heart may know, 

No Hygean art, or skill profound, 
Can staunch its fearful flow. 

And such was thine, and thou did'st prove 
The depth of human wrong; 

And yet thou wert all formed for love. 
For gentle love and song. 

The soft and soothing spells of home 
Have not their magic power, 

For those who ever lightly roam, 
Nor ask its gentle dower. 



SONGS OF THE WUST. 117 

And thou didst tear thyself away 
From friends, and home, and hearth, 

To break the spells that bound, away 
In revelry and mirth. 

And thou didst leave those idols dear, 

The stormy sea to ride, 
A wanderer's weary crown to wear. 

And climb the mountain's side. 

That hours of absence might beguile 

The tedium of life, 
And quell its troubled dreams the while, 

And hush its frenzied strife. 

But nevermore thy greeting smile, 

Nor voice shall make us glad, 
! Albion, ungrateful isle. 

Ungrateful to the dead. 

For nevermore for thine award 

Will his true genius haste ; 
! sleep, sleep on, immortal bard, 

Thou hast found rest at last. 



118 SONGS OF TUE WEST. 



THE SIGH AND THE TE2VE,. 

"But, whither shall the spirit go 
To find this gift for Heaven ? 
Be tills, she cried, as slie winged her flight, 
My welcome gift at the gates of Light." 

LAIiLA ROOKH. 

! WHAT would the beautiful Peri ? 

What bore she on her wing, 
As she soared to the gates of Paradise, 

With a precious offering ? 

And where that sigh did she gather, 

For a seraph ear to hear, 
As it winged her flight to the realms of light, 

Fo give her entrance there ? 

Was it the sigh of a lover, 

Or a deeper, holier spell, 
That woke the spirit's answering chords, 

Than a lover's breast might swell ? 

It matters not, 't was powerless, 

To reach the hidden throne ; 
Nor votary welcome homage bring, 

With the purest sigh alone. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST, 119 

But there were hopes all blighted, 

And broken hearts below, 
And eyes by joy once lighted. 

Whence naught but tear drops flow. 

There were tears like pearls that glisten 

From the depths of ocean's bed ; 
Tears like the morning dew-drops, 

On earth's fairest flowers shed. 

Thither the Peri hied her, 

And a crystal trophy bore ; 
"Be this,^'' she said "my passport free. 

At the gate of Heaven once more." 

And the golden gates were opened, 

The shining portals passed ; 
What the tender sigh had failed to win, 

The tear had gained at last. 



120 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



AND, IS THIS ALL? 



A SIGH and a tear, 

A hope and a fear, 
And a heart to cope only with sorrow; 

For the sweet joy that lay 

On my soul yesterday, 
That I vainly shall wait for to-morrow. 

A watch wild and vain, 

Again and again, 
Till my sad eyes are swollen with weeping ; 

For the shadow of him. 

My own true love, is dim, 
! far, far away is he sleeping. 

Will any one blame, 

When I speak his name, 
Whose heart beats for me, and me only ? 

O, how vainly I call, 

Alas ! yes, this is all. 
Since lie left me so sad and so lonely. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 121 



THE PATRIOT. 

Most nobly has he fought his country's battles to the 

last, 
While obloquy, reproach, and scorn, were thick upon 

him cast, 
As he upon her altar laid his wealth, himself, his life, 
And rallied all his energies to meet the coming strife. 

Most nobly, proudly does he stand in bold relief to-day, 
While the prayer of many a patriot heart will yield to 

him its sway; 
And the sound of many voices shall send up for him 

their cry, 
The advocate of freedom, and the friend of liberty. 

And as he stood amid the storm, and breasted every 

wave, 
That roll'd upon him as he strove his country's name to 

save, 
From the deeper, darker stains that may rest upon her 

name, 
To tarnish her bright pages, and to sully her fair fame. 

And still he stands^ our own, our best, our country's 

brightest star. 
To light its darkness, and to shed its radiance afar, 

6 



122 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Unto the millions wlio may come to own his righteous 

sway, 
'T is thus that he has ever stood, 't is thus he stands 

to-day. 
So gather, gather to his side, ye brave, and tried, and 

true, 
The battle ground is free to all, the victory to you. 
Pause not amid the conflict, till the field is fairly won, 
And ye have crowned with fadeless wreaths the nation's 

greatest son. 



SOiYGS OF THE WEST. 12 J 



STEPHEN ARNOLD DOUaLAS. 

'T IS past, 't is past, the pageant all, hark ! 't is a funeral 

knell, 
The patriot sleeps, the nation weeps, list to the pealing 

bell; 
And banners float upon the breeze, and streamers wave 

on high, 
The weeds of mourning, aye and look, vast crowds have 

gathered nigh. 

Tread softly now, with cautious feet, and with uncovered 

head. 
For ye are in the presence chamber of the illustrious 

dead; 
Bend ye, and homage render to the hero lying low, 
And breathe a prayer for freedom, though it will not 

wake him, now. 

*' God save the Union," 't was his long, and last, and 

earnest cry. 
That still our country's "stars and stripes'' might sweep 

in triumph by ; 
He prayed that traitor hearts might fail, and traitor 

hands grow weak, 
While Truth, forever in the right, in clarion tones 

should speak. 



124 SONGS OF THE V/EST. 

And thus he died, just when it seemed a blessed boon to 

live. 
And unto God, and to the right, the pcAver and glory 

give ; 
But He that seeth not as man seeth, but hath his svray, 
Can make His voice be heard in death, more than in 

life, to-day. 

Then, in his death, fresh courage take, ye brave, and 

tried, and true. 
Though passionless, and calm, and cold, still speaks he 

unto you, 
Pause nat amid the conflict, till the field is fairly won. 
And the qlow is struck for freedom, and the glorious 

work is done. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 125 



0, THINK OF ME. 

When life's suu runnetli dark and drear, 
When friends are few, and foes are near. 
And ail is gone thou holdest dear, 
0, think of me. 

When thou art sweeping down the tide, 
With Love no longer by thy side, 
Ah ! as the joyless moments glide, 
Then think of me. 

If Pleasure from thy seeking flies 
Like summer light from autumn skies, 
As its last glowing ember dies, 
Still think of me. 

If all thy cherished hopes should blight, 
And, like a meteor fade from sight, 
Leaving nought but a hopeless night, 
0, think of me. 



126 SONGS OF TSE WEST. 



ON AND ON. 

The days are passing on and on, 

Till, merged into tlie growing years; 

The years tread sternly on, in turn, 
Till but a noteless blank appears. 

Tlie hours, the winged hours, they pass, 
Like meteors through the gloom of night 

The eye spell-bound a moment, with 
The glow of their receding light. 

The weeks as silently go by, 

As sails upon a far-off sea ; 
Bearing their tokens out upon 

The ocean of eternity. 

The months take up the ceaseless march, 
Like heralds from the field of strife ; 

Alas ! the records that they bear. 
From off the battle-ground of life. 

A little hand-breadth space of time. 
Like shuttle flying through the loom ; 

A blade wof grass cut down, a flower 

When withered — man, such is thy doom. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 127 

Each one hatli yet a diverse patli, 

Through the world's great highway alone ; 

Who that would loiter in the race ? 
The days are passing on, and on. 



128 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



VAIN HOPES. 

Like meteor light from yonder sky, 
Like foam from crested wave ; 

So, from us doth each fond wish fly, 
So find our hopes a grave. 

And yet we hope, a marshaled train, 
Comes at our beck and call ; 

Only to be deceived again, 
Alas ! is not this all ? 

We hope and wait, we wait and hope, 

Till, leaving one by one, 
We stand far down Life's bending slope. 

Its disenchantment done. 



SONGS OF TEE WEST. 129 



AN IBIPEOMPTU. 

Play on, soft-fingered winds, play on, 
A low and lovely strain ; 

That we may fancy she who sung 
So sweetly, sings again. 

Blow on, soft-winged winds, blow on, 
xlnd sweep the yielding strings ; 
We '11 think aorain we hear her voice. 



And it is she that sings. 



6* 



130 SOJ^GS OF THE WEST. 



NO MORE. 

The years o'erladen, come and go, 
With all their varied store ; 
But that which once hath charmed me so, 
Thy face, I see no more, loved one ; 
I see thy face no more. 

The busy world goes plodding on, 

With mingled toil and strife ; 
But those dear eyes that on me shone. 
Were dearer than my life, their light ; 
Was dearer than my life. 

The weary years they come and go, 
How many gone before ? 

And with them one that loved me so ; 

Whose face I see no more ; loved one, 
I see thy face no more. 



SONGS OF THE WEST, 131 



SUNSET. 

O ! SWEET and lovely sunset, 
The brightest hues are thine ; 
And in thy glory we forget, 
^T is day's decline. 

And thui may be life's sunset ; 
As bright and beautiful ] 
When more than earthly rays have met 
IJncn the soul. 



132 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



PLACE YOUR HOPES ABOVE. 

Place your hopes above, dear, 
Where the storms ne'er sweep ; 

Death, decay, despair are here, 
Hearts that watch and weep. 

Hearts that were too frail, dear, 

For the surging strife ; 
Hearts whose strings could never bear 

The lengthened key of life. 

Lift your eyes above, dear, 

See yon shining star, 
Through the lone night-time of fear. 

Send its beams afar. 

Place your hopes above, dear. 
Where the storms ne'er sweep; 

Death, decay, despair, are here. 
Hearts that watch and weep. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 133 



TO GEORaiANA. 

Sleep on, sleep od, nor wake again, 
To know tliat life is linked with pain • 
Oil ! sleep, sleep oa, forever sleep, 
Nor know the living wake to weep. 

Sleep on, sleep on, and question not, 
If tliou art by tlic world forgot ; 
Oh ! sleep, sleep on ; 't were better so, 
Than all the ills of life to know. 

Sleep on, sleep on, most pure and blest,- 
For thou hast entered into rest ; 
Oh ! sleep, sleep on, may not a breath,^ 
Disturb the deep repose of death. 



134 ;SOJyGS OF 1^^ WEST. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

INSCRIBED TO MRS. WILBUR— BY GERTIE 

Tiiou art gone to tlie gmve, Ellsworth, we deeply deplore 
tliee; 
Now sorrow and darkness encompass the home 
Of thy kindred, and affianced; left lonely behind thee. 
And the lamp of thy love lights them not through 
the gloom. 

Thou art gone to the grave, Ellsworth, we no longer 
behold thee, 
Nor tread'st the rough path of the world by our side ; 
But still in our hearts we will seek to enshrine thee. 
And remember the loved cause, for which thou hast 
died. 



Thou art gone to the grave, Ellsworth, thy country for- 
saking; 

Perchance, thy brave spirit for her lingered long : 
As the bright rays of Liberty, beamed on thy vision ; 

Thy heart and thy hand were both mighty and strong. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 135 

Thou art gone to the grave, Ellsworth, we deeply deplore 
thee, 

Whose love for our country was firm, true, and tried j 
God gave thee. He took thee, we cannot recall thee ; 

Bereaved is our people since Ellsworth has died. 



13G SONGS OF THE WEST. 



NIAGARA. 



A G0X2TET. 



I TRAVELED far, aboYG its wave to stand, 
Tli^t I might hear the mighty cataract roar, 
And see the clouds of mist above it soar ; 

'T was morn, and my hand clisped another hand; 
And as we stood and looked, and looked again, 

Not satisfied, but gazing still the more, 
It seemed like looking down Life's solemn main, 

Where coming shadows cast their glooms before, 
The great heart of the river^beat in one. 
Till near the brink, then parting each alone, 

Struggling and swaying onward to the sea, 

Seemed to foreshadow what our lives would be ; 
And, while I listened to the breaking waves. 
They seemed the echoes of a thousand graves. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 137 



JOHNNY'S GRAVE.* 

It is down wliere the youug swans are sailing, 
On tlie verge of a miniature lake ; 

Where nought else the silence is breaking, 
But the echo the light ripples wake. 

'T is the sweetest, yet saddest of places, 
The saddest, yet sweetest to view ) 

As might be the home of the graces, 
And he was the darling of two. 

His features were paler than ashes. 
On the hearth when the fire is out ; 

Or the spray when the rivulet dashes 
The beautiful rain-drops about. 

For the light from his dark eyes had faded, 
Like the glow of a summer morn. 

Or a moon when its beauty is shaded, 
Or the sun when its beams are shorn. 

So they made him a bed where the flowers 

Nestled down in the dewy grass, 
And the sun's soft undulant showers 
Fall over the death-like pass. 
At Spring Grove, Cincinnati. 



138 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

And tlie young swans sing to each other. 
But never for Johnny's ear ; 

And the flow'rets whisper together, 
Too softly for Johnny to hear. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 139 



ON A DREAM 

OF RECEIVING FLOWERS FROM A DECEASED FRIEND. 

A GIFT of flowers, but she who gave 
Lies cold and pulseless in the grave ; 
What blossoms from its withering gloom 
Should still for me in beauty bloom ? 

Most precious germs of life are hid, 
But not beneath the coffin Kd ; 
How should they from its dust arise, 
To greet us with a glad surprise ? 

Such bright and beautiful rare flowers, 
The birth of sunshine and of showers; 
They could not live beneath the mold, 
^Yhere all is dark, and damp, and cold. 

Whence, then, the effort of her hand, 
To reach from out the shadowy Land, 
Unless in my dull thoughts to move, 
The memory of our early love ? 

She looked as erst, as freshly fair, 
The light fell from her golden hair ; 
And in her friendly palm she bore 
The emblems th^t she brings no more. 



140 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

A silent greeting, neither spoke, 
But from the transient spell I woke ; 
To gather by my life's cold stream, 
The joyless shadows of a dream. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 141 



THE NAME. 

Though we may strive to write our name 
" Upon time's fairest page, 
And look for praise^ and hope for fame, 
The key-note of the age ; 

Though we may kneel to win the prize 

Of heaven-bora Poesy, 
And ask the plaudits of the skies, 

To cheer our minstrelsy j 

Or, seek amid the crowded throng. 
Our deep heart throbs to hide, 

That gush, as with the voice of song, 
Our inner life doth bide; 

Or, as the Spartan mother taught 

The pangs of death to bear. 
Unyielding, though the burning thought 

Like beasts our bosom tear ; 

'T will be of us, and all that we. 
With toil and care have done, 

As, buried in oblivion's sea, 
They vanish one by one. 



142 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

'T will be as though the written scroll 
Was on the sandy shore, 

And when the waves of ocean roll, 
The name is seen no more. 



SONGiS OF THE WEST. 143 



AWAKE AND AEOUSE THEE. 

Awake and arouse ttee, ! slumbering one, 

Ere tlie fast coming night find thy life work undone ; 

Already the shadows are creeping along, 

Over mountain and valley, a far-reaching throng ; 

Before them the sunshine is fleeting away, 

And darkness broods over the brow of the day. 

O ! up and be doing, let each stroke decide, 
Whether thou art triumphant o'er wind, and o'er tide ; 
Though strong be the current, adverse be its flow, 
And beating the waves against rudder and bow. 
Spread sail and pass on, though the haven be far, 
And left but the light of one glimmering star. 

O I up from the wayside, and loiter no more, 

With bright sandaled feet, ever hastening before. 

To gain the green mountains where bright flowers bloom, 

Above the dark vale with its mist and its gloom; 

The sweetness to snatch with the blossom in prime, 

Ere the harvest be past and the sweet summer-time. 

Bend shoulders to burden, though shrinking and bare, 
Falter not, lest thy spirit grow sordid with care ; 



144 SONGS OF TEE WEST. 

Let each step be firm where thy pathway shall lead, 
Though thorns may pass under thy feet as they tvead, 
Let the craven heart faint with the weight of its fear, 
May thy motto be, " Onward," the goal must be near. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 145 



RECOLLECTIONS. 

A BEAMING sua shone o'er me once, 
In brightness on my way ; 

But clouds have gathered in the sky, 
Where is that sun to-day ? 

A voice that softly breathed my name, 
Fainter, and fainter grew ; 

Until my heart had grown the same, 
Yv^here are those words of dew ? 

A careless word, in lightness spoke. 
Became an earnest doom ; 

A sound too harsh for tender ears, 
Where is affection's bloom ? 

A little hand once clasped in mine, 

Withered away, away, 
Like a blossom in the early frost ; 

Where is the young and gay ? 

A bird within my bosom's core. 

Long since hath ceased to sing, 

And soar above each cankering care ; 
Where is its glancing wing ? 



146 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

A love that germed within my breast, 
Was budded with despair ; 

Each flower a poisoned arrow sped 3 
Where are my hopes so fair ? 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 



WHEN I AM GONE. 

"What will they say when I am gone ? 

Ah ! this alone ; 
" To earth allied, she lived and died, 

Now dead and gone." 

"Will any drop a sorrowing tear, 

Above my bier ? 
For my last sleep, will any weep ? 

For me one tear ? 

I will it be one heart will sigh, 

"When standing nigh 
My place of rest, for me one breast, 

Heave but a sigh ? 

"Will any bless ray place of rest, 

And call me blest ? 
With those sweet words, " dead in the Lord, 

A blessed rest. 

What will they say when I am gone ? 

Be it this alone : 
Lived well, and died, then glorified, 

Living, though gone. 



148 SOyOS OF THE WEST. 



WHEN THE LIFE LIGIHT SHALL FADE 
FE03I MY BROW. 

I SEE a proud Temple afar, 

And its turrets are reaching the sky ; 

I give me but one little corner or nook, 
When my meeds and my merits ye try. 

1 see the stars tv/iukle above, 

Gleaming out of the waters below ; 
And I hear the soft ripple and rhythm of waves, 
Like the music of many harps' flow. 

The brightness attracted my eye, 

And the beauty the touch of my hand ; 

The sweetness swept over the sea of my soul ; 
Till one of the players I stand. 

A smile to my masters I give, 

With a low, and a reverent bow ; 
Would in the light of their smiles I might live, 

When the life-light shall fade from my brow. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 149 



THE SUICIDE. 



*^ We must not pluck death from the Maker's hand, 
How terrible the thought that there are those 
Who by force rudely break the cords of life 
Asunder marring the beautiful visage 
That He hath shaped from out the lifeless clay ; 
And breathed into it a deathless spirit, 
Endowed with all the faculties of sense ; 
And yet how many do commit the deed 
That dooms them to the realms of dark despair. 
One such there was, a woman young and fair, 
With all the hopes of life thick clustering round 
Her pathway, or, as 't were to earthly eyes, 
There seemed no want. 

She had a lovely child 
Whose smile reflected but rays of pure love ; 
Bat here on earth where can there yet be found, 
A perfect eden where the tempter comet h 
Not, as to Eve amid her stainless bowers. 
To blight and to destroy ? 

To this weak one, 
Such came in evil hour, when the soul's watch 
Had found an interval, and whispered to her, 
That it were better far to die than live. 



160 SO^■GS OF THE WEST. 

Our loved one listened to the cliarmcr's spell, 
And said, '^ Our mother died, 'tis well, 't is well/^ 
And so, forgetting what she owed to love, 
To its dear pledge, to herself, and to God ; 
Without His password through the dark unknown, 
She rushed unbidden into the Mighty presence. 
Sad the record of her folly, how she dared, 
So break the silver bowl, and check the fountain 
Of life, mingling bitter waters with the spring 
Which, while some drink, they loathe, and long to die. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 151 



VOICES. 

There are low voices calling, so softly, and sweetly, 
My heart thrills with rapture at every sound ; 

For gentle as dew drops in the hush of the evening, 
They seem imperceptibly falling around. 

There 's a voice from afar, that is fond and familiar. 
Though its sound has grown fainter, and fainter for 
years, 

Like the finishing strokes of a bell in its chiming ; 
Which the air brings in tremulous sounds to our ears. 

There are light tones which leave a yet fainter impression, 
Which their power have lost like the lips that are still; 

As the picture fades slow, when the form is decaying; 
So the tones of my love scarce a measure can fill. 

There are snatches of songs, and of sighs, how they mingle, 
With the shade of a tear, and the light of a smile ; 

Spiritual, tender, and rare as exotics. 

That out from home bowers, but blossom awhile. 



152 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



ONLY IN DREAMS. 



Only in dreams I see thee, 

When the garish day is done ; 
Only as spirits meet, I meet thee. 

When real forms are gone ; 
Only in dreams come to thy side, 

In the shadowy realms of night ; 
And O ! as transient are the dreams. 

As spirits in their flight. 

Only in dreams I meet thee ; 

Or e'er shall meet again ; 
No loving clasp of hands, beloved, 

Henceforth for us remain ; 
Only in dreams we live, and move, 

Each other as before ; 
No waking power, or reason's mood, 

Realities restore. 



SONGS OF THE WEST, 153 



THE HALL OF HARPS. 

It hatli a meed of praise, 
For tlie victor's car ; 

The sounds its peans raifie, 
Are borne afar. 

It hath a ray of light, 

For the good and brave ; 

A song for the darkest night, 
And the lonely grave. 

It hath melody to charm, 
For the bridal hour ) 

And wild notes of alarm, 
When tempests lower. 

It hath a wail of woe. 

When the great man dies ; 
A moan for the last faint throe, 

On its altar lies. 

It hath marches for the dead, 
Like a mourner drest ; 

And a slow and solemn tread, 
For their place of rest. 



154 SONGS OF THE WEST.^ 

It hatli livelier lays of life, 
For all eartli's climes ; 

Acd the l^irdened air is rife 
With its myriad chimes. 



SOIVOS OF THE WEST. 



THE POLAE SEA. 

" It is such a landscape as a Dante, or a Milton might picture ; 
inorganic, niysteriovis, desolate." — E. K. Kane. 

The ice bergs of the Arctic, 

Stand in their majesty, 
And the panoply of winter, 

Hangs o'er the Polar Sea. 

All through the gathering darkness, 

Far out upon the hills ; 
Might be seen the massive snow-drifts, 

Ere the eye the darkness fills ; 

And the day all drear and sunless. 
More like the night than day; 

Lighted by the palest moonbeams. 
And the stars paler ray ; 

"Which fade not out at noonday, 

Wi'-h its twilight gathering, 
As the growing tread of the " ice foot," 

Will no better promise bring. 



The high and frozen headlands. 
Sleep on in silence drear; 

And upon the crags projecting, 
No bright spot nestles near. 



156 SO^^GS OF THE WEST. 

No tiny barque may traverse. 
Or cope with such a tide ; 

Nor friendly sails unfurling, 
Cast anchor side by side. 

But where is he who ventured 
His all on such a sea ; 

Amid Time's sweeping surges, 
AYhere may his moorings be ? 

His san went down in glory ; 

His was a hard-earned fame ; 
But he lives to bless the mariner, 

With the magic of his name. 



SONGS OF TEE WEST. 157 



THE SOUL'S RAIN. 

Let the spirit's heaven be overcast, 
And tear-drops like the rain fall fast ; 
The bitter fountains of the heart, 
Repress them not, but let them start ; 
They dissipate and purify. 
The storm-clouds from the spirit's sky. 

Souls the most genial, have their shades, 
And seasons, when their sunlight fades. 
Into the murky gloom of night ; 
When sensuous forms obscure the light ; 
As griefs their barbed arrows throw. 
And all life's waves adversely flow. 

Yet, 't is but for a little while. 
We linger 'tween the tear and smile, 
To find young joys untimely old; 
When friendship, love, have waxen cold. 
And with the lapse of years to say, 
Our dearest hopes, have passed away. 



158 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



LINES FOR MY LYRE. 

Keys to unlock its mysteries, and bring 

Its new fledged lays like birds upon the wing ; 

First Reason calmly soars and looks aloft, 

With trace of scorn left to her sisters soft ; 

And mostly to her sentimental friend : 

Scarce one sweet smile do her fixed features lend ; 

Each pretty play of Fancy she eschews ; 

And each sweet plaintive strain, her eye reviews ; 

Ever displaying to the favored fair, 

Her rule and plummet swaying through the air. 

Now comes Philanthropy on flying steeds ; 

And pleads for human kind, a thousand needs ; 

She brings a wounded spirit like a dove, 

Calling for mortal sympathy and love ; 

Now, draw the curtain tenderly and mild ; 

For this is nature's least enduring child : 

How will a careless word, a look, a breath. 

Doom this meek dweller, to the gates of death. 

Simplicity, sweet child of earth, come near, 

Nor thy more intellectual neighbor fear ; 

For nature's rarest blossoms are for thee ; 

Streamlet and dale, and mingling zephyrs free; 

Leave classic minds in classic realms afar, 

Be thou but guided by thy natal star : 

Come in its glittering beams, and count the nights, 



SONGS OF TEE WEST. . 159 

That seem to brightest shine with borrowed lights; 

Number the roses, on the wreath of Fame, 

And turn thou to the dust, and write thy name. 

Imagination daring in her flight, 

Hath spanned the overarching heavens with light ; 

Infatuated, and with passion blind, 

So Reason says on her essay on mind ; 

But still where fall the sun's refulgent beams, 

The former riots, revels in her dreams. 

All dreams are glorious things by Fancy wrought, 

There is no mart where they are sold or bought, 

Too evanescent for a market stall, 

Where produce lies, and prices rise and fall. 

Sweet Faith and Hope, let sceptics scoff and sneer, 

And critics laugh thee down with joke and jeer, 

Clasp to thy breast thy creeds, though da}- light dies, 

And still point upward through the darkest skies. 

Religion sees afar amid the night, 

Through all the darkling drops, a rainbow bright ; 

A token with true colors from the shore, 

That our fair earth shall deluged be no more. 

Fair Science opes her gates of centuries old ; 

Explorers enter, some with thirst for gold ; 

Ready to test what light-winged wealth can give, 

And in its beauty's baubling light to live ; 

Forgetting still that it hath thorns to press 

The brow, more often than it comes to bless. 

Some seek for fame, by midnight taper pale, 

Forgetful that it fans a dubious gale -, 

And some for Love in solitude doth pine, 



160 SOJVGS OF THE WEST. 

Invoking aid from all the tuneful nine ; 

While others crave and thirst for kingly power, 

As though of all earth's gifts ^t were her best dower, 

But all ask Life, though called the fitful flame. 

And much of it existeth but in name. 

Bright Genius, thine award so long delayed. 

Excuse if we from thine own ranks have strayed, 

Whei*e Perseverance cons the mystic page. 

And draws in lines of light, from age to age ; 

Thy various colors, from the vaulted sky, 

To the blended azure of the violet's eye ; 

Thou universal art, o'er earth and air, 

Wherever art is, there thy pictures fair. 

Can charm in either of foregoing mood. 

There 's neither time nor space where thou 'st not stood , 

But kindly Charity is of the train. 

And doth from every evil thought refrain ) 

And though thou dost hold converse with the wise. 

She teacheth thee that thou shalt none despisa, 

But often drop a feather from thy win<::, 

To aid the weak to rise, and soar, and sing. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 161 



THE LAYS OF THE LOWLY. 

There are bays for bards immortal, 

Of well attested fame ; 
But a passing thought to the lowly, 

Who have but a common name. 

They may toil by the sounding anvil, 
By the hamftier at the forge, 

By the streamlet wildly rushing 
Adown the mountain gorge. 

Where the sunburnt sailor climbeth 
Up high in the swaying shrouds, 

And the pilot guides the quivering barque 
Through storms and ocean clouds; 

There 's an eye of eagle brightness. 
To measure the mighty main ; 

And an ear to list to its swelling songs. 
And sing them back again. 

W^ith the wheel of a thousand spinclles, 

Turned by a tiny hand ; 
There may mingle a voice whose melody 

Shall reach to every land. 



162 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Let us listen to lowly voices, 

For eacli liath a word, a tone, 

To waken the soul to the beautiful ; 
That lays in its depths alone. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 163 



ALONE. 

"VYhen morning breaks from tlie brightening skies 

And the stars fade, one by one, 
A shadow dim on my spirit lies, 

For I am alone. 

I watch the sun, as begirt with fire, 
He mounts to his mighty throne ; 

But how can feeling or thought aspire, 
When I am alone ? 

Earth's voices on the whispering breeze 

But waken a sadder tone ; 
Birds answer each other from leafy trees. 

While I am alone. 

I wander to the forgotten past 

For some loved form, but none, 
Save in ideal shapes, still lasts, — 

Ah ! I am alone. 



s 



164 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE WILD VINE. 

A WILD vine to the casement climbed, 
Through the long summer days ; 

And sad and mournfully it chimed, 
With the wind's autumnal lays. 

And the stems were hunc; so strong and deep, 

Woven and interlaced ; 
That the zephyrs breath, when waked from sleep. 

Sighed through them as it passed. 

And a voice there was, as it wafted on, 
To the creeper, bright and green : 

" When thou to dark decay has gone, 
I shall be here, I ween. 

" When the spirit of the past has come, 
And a paleness o'er thee spread ; 

I shall sigh above thy lonely home, 
While thou art with the dead." 

And the withering vine clung closer still, 

To the bare and faded wall ; 
As the rude north wind, so bleak and chill. 

Made the tender blossoms fall. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 165 

But flower, and leaf, and stem have gone, — 

A bright thing passed away -, 
And what of beauty have we known, 

But had a short-lived day ? 



166 SONGS OF TUB WEST. 



THE SONG OF THE HEARTSTRUCK. 

For e'er I sing my plaintive lay, 

Perchance for some to scorn, 
Still glide along my darkened way, 

Of joy and brightness shorn; 
Though stranger tongues may idly blame 

The griefs they ne'er can feel, 
Still shall I by the fitful flame 

Of my dread altar kneel. 

It cannot bring the lights again, 

That burned in other days ; 
For all around, the love-lit fane, 

A wreck and ruin lays ; 
I 've nothing left, alas ! but dust. 

For my lone heart" to keep, 
And hide, as well it may, and must. 

And o'er its ashes weep. 

The silver pitcher rudely cast 

Into the glowing wave, 
Not gathered up, will sink at last, 

Nor skill nor power can save ; 



SOI^GS OF THE WEST. 167 

The purest pearls, hung on the brow 

Of those that prize them not, 
Will charm but for a moment now, 

Then lightly be forgot. 

So may we lavish fondest love, 

The faithful heart can give ; 
May bid each varying pulse to move, 

And still unblest may live ) 
The phantom will elude our grasp, 

Whatever it may be ; 
And all in vain we seek to clasp 

The dear-bought deity. 

The waves of life may darkly flow, 

So bright at morning tide. 
And to the sluggish stream below. 

In silent murmurs glide ; 
The mildew blight of years may fall. 

And on the spirit lay, 
And we, when skies are darkened all, 

" Forget we once were gay.'^ 



168 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE LAND BEYOND THE TIDE. 

How oft liath it been sung, the land, tlie land beyond 

the tide, 
The home where sinless beings in their happiness abide ] 
Far, far away from strife and care, from sorrow, grief and 

pain, 
Where death may never enter more, the sacred, dear 

domain 
Of love and sweet domestic bliss, severing tenderest 

ties; 
And faith, and hope, and joy, and fond devotion, never 

dies ; 
Where man is never false to man, as on this earth 

below. 
But truth and justice, undeceived, in equal currents 

flow. 
And disappointmentdread, the peaceful spirit never mars, 
0! is there such a land as this, beyond the radiant 

stars ? 

If such a land exists, may we the blest assurance know, 
Sweet spirits from that cloudless clime, come down to us 

below ; 
And tell us if the blue ne'er melts, from out your azure 

skies ; 
If on the glowing face of hope the beauty never dies ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 169 

If, of all living harmonies ye have an endless store — 
If nothing ever withers there, if flowers bloom no more ; 
I come to us, come in the dreams and visions of the 

night, 
Bringing a blest reality, for fancy's fickle flight ; 
! friends beloved, and dear to us, from earth now 

passed away, 
Come back, and tell us of the land where shines eternal 

day. 

8 



170 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



BY -GONE DAYS. 

Forgotten dreams, of by-gone days 

Come stealing o'er tlie heart ; 
Like as the fitful shadow plays, 

'Mid beams of light its part. 

As the soft voices of the air 

Break on the stilly night; 
When sunset decks the landscape fair, 

With gleams of parting light ; 

Or, as the echo on the wave, 

Awaked from quiet sleep, 
When vessels, lightly freighted, lave 

The bosom of the deep ; 

So thoughts of other days return, 

And stealthily entwine 
Around the altar fires, that burn 

On memory's sacred shrine. 

And though we seek each thought to check, 

As with a double rein. 
Or bid them sleep as doth the wreck 

Beneath the distant main ; 



SOXGS OF THE WEST, 171 

They rise as dotli the living spring, 

That unobstructed plays : 
A strange and a mysterious thing, 

The power of by-gone days. 



172 SO^''GS OF THE WEST. 



MY PETS. 

PART FIRST. 

I HAVE two pets, two darling pets, 

They are all the world to me ; 
Morn, noon, and eventide, they cheer 

With their sweet ministry. 

My Gertie is the eldest one ; 

Just thirteen summers fair 
Have taught her cheek to blush, and hung 

With curls her dark brown hair. 

She needeth not the lily white, 

Nor rouge of deeper shade 
Upon her brow or rosy lips, — 

All these have nature made. 

Her laughs rings out, through all the day, 

In merriment and glee, 
And sweet and silvery is her voice, 

Like softest zephyrs free. 

PART SECOND. 

Now comes my darling Nettie next, 
A sprightly girl of ten j 



SONGS OF THE WFST. 178 

Unlike tlie eldest one, but still 
The same in grace and mein. 

! it is sweet, at early morn, 

To look in her bright eyes, 
And see the radiance of the stars, 

Just as they set and rise. 

Her hair is of auburn hue, 

And eyes the very same ; 
And when she speaks, it is as though 

An angel breathed my name. 

These are my pets, my darling pets, — 

They are all the world to me ; 
Morn, noon, and eventide they cheer, 

With their sweet ministry. 



174 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



MY LOVE'S EYES. 

Would those eyes were ever near me I 
I would gaze upon tlieir liue ; 

Baskins: like the stars of evening!', 
In then- soft, cerulean blue. 

Would their light might shine around me, 
Their subdued and silvery glow 

Calm me to a pulse more even, 
Than false beauty's fickle glow. 

AYould they were around, above nic, 

Like a spirit in my dream ; 
And would whisper soft, " I love thee," 

With a mild and tender gleam. 

Would I were forever loving, 
In their soft, sweet gaze to be, 

While their glance like fixed stars beaming, 
Were forever fixed on me. 



Would ? ah ! me, yet, who would ntt be ? 

Where those eyes their bright rays caiit ; 
Making for each heart a heaven, 

Cheering, charming, to the last. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. ]75 



TOKENS FEOxAl THE SHORE. 

Thy ship is sailing down the tide, 
The drifting winds before ; 

And I no longer by thy side ; 
Give tokens from the shore. 

See'st the white 'kerchief in the air, 
Kaised gently by the wind ? 

Why should I yield me to despair, 
Though I am left behind ? 

Thy love will beckon me along, 
The unexplored highway ', 

And then my joy will be as strong. 
As is my grief to-day. 

For, as I wait, and watch for thee, 
Nor slumber as before ; 

So will thine eyes look back to see, 
My tokens from the shore. 



176 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



. A WREATH. 

Should I weave a wreath for thee, dearest, 
It should be of flow'rets bright ; 

Unfading, beautiful, and free, 
Basking in purest light. 

It should be a wreath of Joy, dearest. 

Unmixed with earthly ill ; 
And not one drop of base alloy, 

The kindly measure fill. 

It should be a wreath of Hope, dearest, 

Anchored beyond the sky ; 
That should ever bear thy spirit up. 

If sorrow's storm swept by. 

It should be a wreath of Faith, dearest, 

A surety of rest ; 
An echo of the voice that saith, 

" Be thou forever blest." 

It should be in Heaven above, dearest. 

Forever full and free ; 
With Joy, and Hope, and Faith, and Love, 

Should I weave a wreath for thee. 



ii^OKGS OF THE WEST. Ill 



8* 



LOVE. 

A LITTLE bird sung 
From a wayside tree, 

And this is the song 
Which it sung to me : 

! how sweetly it trilled, 
From the branches above, 

These beautiful words : 
Love, love, love, love. 

A young child smiled, 

As it passed me by. 
And I caught the glance 

Of its loving eye ; 
And now, wheresoever 

My feet may rove, 

1 can see it smiling : 
Love, love, love, love. 

My thoughts keep turning. 

To bird and child; 
That my heart in sadness 

From woe beguiled ; 
There is no sweeter song 

In the Heaven above. 
Than the child's and the bird's 

Love, love, love, love. 



178 SOA^'GS OF THE WEST. 



THE LAW OF NATURE. 

Take tlie lion from the forest, 

From the shelter and the shade, 
Where all day he idly wandered 

Up the glen and down the glade, 
Bind his cell with bars of iron, 

Guard him closely night and day, 
Though ye may detain his body. 

His loved lair is far away, 

And could he but burst asunder, 
From his prison, he would flee 
Back to his familiar footpaths 
^Mid the desert wild and free ) 
Where he coped with meaner vassal, 

That did scorn his kingly right. 
With his voice of thunder awestruck. 
Through the watches of the night. 

Take the bird of soaring pinion 
Through the soft and summer air. 

Cage it in the brightest sunshine. 
Or 'mid flowers fresh and fair ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 179 

And there is a note of sadness 

Mingled witli its sweetest strain, 
Gone tlie very joy, tlie gladness 

It will never know a^jain. 



Mark tlie flutter of its bright wings, 

As some songster perches nigh. 
All its tendencies are heavenward 

Where the stars are hanging high ; 
Where the drapery of the forest 

Mantles all the vale below, 
Rustling leaf, and rushing streamlet, 

There the captive bird would go. 



Take the heart from some fond idol 

It hath cherished long and deep ; 
Tear the closest links asunder, 

It would still unbroken keep -, 
And although a smile may gather 

' er a calm and placid brow. 
Still there lurks a secret sorrow, 

All consuming, sad and slow. 



Heed we then, the voice of nature 
Written in the earth and sky. 

And though tempted to pervert them, 
Never pass its teachings by ; 



180 SO:^GS OF THE WEST. 

Give the lion back his camp ground, 
Give the bird her azure dome, 

And the heart with warm pulse heating, 
Give the weary heart its home. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 181 



MY FATHER'S CANE. 

'T IS a mournful relic of thee, father, 

A token of days gone by, 
It sadly and silently speaks to me, 

All sad and silently ; 
I almost watch for the hand, father, 

Now pulseless, still, and cold. 
That trusting, and tremblingly on it leaned, 

As oft as I have watched of old. 

Of old did I say, of" old, father ? 

Oh ! 'tis but a little while 
Since I gazed upon thy pleasant face, 

And waited for thy glad smile. 
I shall never see it again, father, 

I shall never see it again. 
And this is all that is left of thee, 

And on it thy hand hath lain. 

To-day, to my eager lips, father, 

I lifted the treasure dear. 
And as I imprinted a tender kiss. 

There followed a burning tear ; • 



182 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

A tear tliat could not be stayed, father, 
But rushing in tumult wild. 

Gave vent to the deeper, wilder thoughts 
Of thy sad and sorrowing child. 



As she looked again on the past, father, 

As she looked again on the past, 
And thought, after all the weary years 

We should meet again at last ; 
AVe should meet again at last, father, 

And speak of the many things. 
Which our diverse paths have brought to us, 

And which life in its changes brings. 



I little thought, when we parted, father, 

We parted to meet no more ; 
I thought that we should meet again. 

When a few brief days were o'er ; 
But the days, and the weeks passed on, father. 

And the seasons went and came. 
With a ceaseless, measureless, mighty tread, 

The same, just the very same. 



But thy cane is no talisman true, father. 
Though it may to my fancy seem , 

A vision of thee all true to bring, 
'T will still be an idle dream ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 183 

So I yield up this cherished thing, father, 

Forever more to be, 
On the records of the day and night, 

A memory of thee. 



184 . SONGS OF THE WEST. 



TO A FALSE FRIEND. 

The soutli wind has sunk to a slumber 
The birdling has gone to its nest ; 

The night-shades have gathered around us, 
The lights have gone out in the west. 

To-day will be merged in to-morrow, 
To-night be succeeded by day ; 

And then all the day-beams will vanish, 
And lapse into darkness away. 

This great law of nature, unchanging. 
Of change upon change we must see, 

But nothing in earth, or in heaven, 
Were ever more changeful than thee. 

I covet not love too uncertain, 
A few fleeting moments to last ; 

A light word, but carelessly spoken, 
A look, and thy favor is past. 

Nay, nevermore call me thy darling, 
So lately the mark of thy scorn ; 

Let me live in the midst of the shadows, 
I fear not a spirit forlorn. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 185 

I ask for no dear, treasured token. 



To lighten this sad heart of mine ; 
No longer on friendship relying, 
So false and so fickle as thine. 



186 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



EMMA. 

A BEAUTIFUL young flower, nipped in the bud, 
Though faded, its fragrance we keep ; 

When the sun is low in the glowing west, 

Softly and tenderly lay her to rest, 

And rejoice that she hved not to weep. 

The pearl-drops that lay on her infantine brow, 

A pale hand hath wiped them away; 
And hushed her still lips, till no token of pain, 
Shall e'er greet the ear that may listen again. 

For she went with the angels to-day. 

How angelic she looked, as enshrouded in white. 

And adorned with a green myrtle wreath ) 
"With the buds of the snow-drop, an emblem of love, 
Which shall blossom anew in the garden above. 
Far over the river of death. 



SO^rGS OF THE WEST. 187 



THE PKIDE OF THE SOUTH. 

But wlicre is tlie pride of the soft, sunny South ? 

Where the regal magnolia, wont for to bloom ? 
Alas ! its rich gardens are parched with the drouth, 

And its queen droops her head in the darkness and 
gloom. 

The spoiler hath swept o'er its beautiful fields, 
And rank desolation and woe left behind, 

A harvest of whirlwinds the injured soil yields, 
For such is the fate of who sows to the wind. 

Lo I war, desolation, and fimine are there, 

Like the plagues that on Egypt, in anger, were sent ; 
And its love-fostered maidens and manhood are where, 

Alas 1 since her mantle of greatness was rent. 

0, is there is no Eachel to weep o'er our land ? 

Who will not be comforted in its distress ; 
When our children midst peril and perfidy stand ; 

To pray to the Most High to aid and to bless. 



188 SO^-GS OF THE WEST. 



VALLEY DALE. 

Valley Dale, Valley Dale, 
The lilies pale are lying 
Along the sward. 
How could the bard 
Kefrain from ever sighing 

ValleyDale, Valley Dale! 

Valley Dale, Valley Dale, 
The violet beds are spreading 
Their petals blue, 
Modest and true. 
With myrtle vines a threading, 
Valley Dale, Valley Dale. 

Valley Dale, Valley Dale, 
That hides the acacia blossom, 
Where ivies twine. 
Saying, " love be mine, 
Come, rest thee in this bosom," 
Valley Dale, Valley Dale. 

Valley Dale, Valley Dale, 
The home of all the posies ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 189 

The pinks so sweet, 
And asters meet, 
To mingle with its roses ; 

Valley Dale, Valley Dale. 



100 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



NELLIE. 

Among the flowers a young child played, 

With eyes of azure blue ; 
And well-lined lips of rosy red, 

And hair of flaxen hue ; 
At blush of morn, and dewy eve. 

With gambols free, she came, 
And her smile out-vied the hours that hied, 

Sweet Nellie was her name. 

One cold, yet calm, October day, 
The scarlet fever came ; 
And fell upon that sinless child, 

Wrapping her tender frame ; 
It softly closed her eyes of blue. 

Shutting her eyelids tight ; 
And a lone one weeps, while Nellie sleeps 
• Away from all the light. 

Just at the setting of the sun, 

An angel flitted by, 
And bore her on his shadowy wings 

Beyond the far, blue sky j 
Strange tones now greet the listening ear — 

Strange steps are at the door, 
But at our call, the loved of all, 

Sweet Nellie, comes no more. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 191 



THE MARTYK OF FKEEDOM. 

"I am going up."— Gen. Lyon. 

He died, our gallant Lyon, 

He sleeps, his mission done ; 
Grone from tlie din of battle, 

The glorious victory won ; 
O ! our beloved country, 

For thee his blood was shed. 
He gave to thee his life, his all ; 

He fills a gory bed. 

He went forth when the summer 

Was in its early prime. 
To fight his country's battles, 

And hide its sin and crime, — 
The autumn winds are wailing 

A solemn dirge for him ; 
And o'er that fated battle-field, 

They breathe his requiem. 

When asked if he was wounded, 
" Not much, not much," he said ; 

But still they knew him dying. 
His glazing eyes were staid ; 

And as they slowly gathered, 



192 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

The darker films of night, 
He uttered, " I am going up,'* 
And took his heavenward flight. 

So died he, freedom's martyr, 

Just in his manhood's prime ; 
From the battle-field they bore him, 

From his last summer time, 
In triumph to his native hills, 

With his sword upon his breast ; 
And the autumn winds are sighing still, 

Above his place of rest. 



SONGS OF THE ]Vi:ST. 193 



SHOALS. 

Upon life's ever changeful sea, 
How many voyagers there be, — 
Some just receding from the shore, 
And some, in part, to sail no more ; 
While others still with shattered mast, 
Along the dangerous shoals are cast. 

The gray-haired sire of three score years. 

The brawl of beating surges hears ; 

And listening to the startling sound 

Of "Vessel wrecked! ho ! ship aground I" 

His wisdom, impotent to save 

From whirlpool waves and yawning grave. 

And manhood, in its prime goes down 
Beneath the wild sea's mighty frown ; 
The surging billows, madly tossed. 
Shriek fearfully, all hope is lost ; 
The breakers dash from shore to shore. 
The craft careens, to cruise no more. 
9 



101 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



FAIR AND FALSE. 



"Spring is only winter Avarmed and painted green," 

Wit and Wisdom. 



He gave me friendship's jewel, 

He said 't was passing bright ; 
And I too saw heaven's brightness, even 

Reflected in its light ; 
But not the pure coin I had thought^ 

It tarnished in my hold ; 
And not for the counterfeit would I 

Have my love-token sold. 

He brought the rarest flower, 

And laid it at my feet ; 
He told me that its budding blooms 

For wintry skies were meet ; 
But when the cold snow like a crown, 

Came falling from the sky, 
And touched the petals of my flower. 

I saw it droop and die. 

He gave me then his heart's love, 
He said 't would never fail ; 

But, like the jewel and the flower, 
I watched its beams grow pale ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 195 

And found that I had been deceived 

With a fair outside show, 
And false as fair ; but it is past — 

Why should I sorrow now ? 



196 SOJS-GS 0I< THE WEST. 



THOU AKT GONE. 



' I 'm going through the eternal gates, 
Ere the June roses bloom." 

Mrs. Osgood's last Poem. 



And thou art gone, sweet poetess ! 
Thy feet have left life's wilderness, 
And thou hast safely entered in 
That land where lies no path of sin ; 
Those blessed gates ope 'd wide for thee, 
And thou art in eternity ! 

June's lovely roses, too, are fled ', 
Like thee they are among the dead. 
Not so the roses thou didst give ; 
They bloom in beauty yet ; they live, 
Unfading flowers of the mind, — 
We thank thee for them, left behind. 

We thank thee for thy dying song, 

Sweet echo, as thou pass 'd along 

The tide that bore thee from our sight ; 

For thou could 'st sing, even though the night 

Had gathered o'er thee all too soon — 

While yet thy life was in its noon. 



SOA^GS OF THE WEST. 197 

Sing on, sing on, forever sing ! 
Thy choicest, sweetest flow 'rets bring ! 
And though we may not see them here. 
We ^11 know they bloom in beauty there ; 
Where nothing good will e'er decay, 
And nothing bright e 'er fade away. 

Harp of sweet sound, farewell, farewell ! 

May thy vibrations ever dwell 

Upon our ear — and when we fear 

To die, O be thou ever near. 

To cheer us in our parting breath, 

And gild with light the gates of death. 



198 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



SONNET TO LAKE MICHIGAN. 

Great Lake ! thou hast been sung in rapturous verse, 

In strains, sweetly subhme, both true and terse : 

Poets and poetesses have felt the spell 

Of thy vast beauty, and, with lingering feet, 

Paused to behold the varying surge and swell, 

And foaming fringes of thy snowy sheet ; 

Or, as thy waves grew placid, calm and still, 

When the soft amber clouds thy bosom fill ; 

And what in just praise of thee, unsung now. 

Can yet be shrined in song, — but that I bow, 

In unfeigned adoration, at thy side, 

Entranced by the sparkling crystal of thy tide ; 

Thou bearest on thy rushing flood, to-day. 

My soul, in tumults of delight, away. 



SONGS OF THE WEST, 199 



A MOTHER'S KEEPSAKES. 

Here is an infant's rattle, 

Once held by a tiny hand ; 

A little basket full of shells, 
A book of pictures, and 

A Httle china baby, 

Dressed just the very same, 
As by that tiny hand 't was dressed, 

Called by the same sweet name. 

These were her little treasure?, 

And I keep them for her sake; 

There were others that she left me, when 
She slept, no more to wake. 

There 's a little dress of muslin, 

And a snowy pinafore ; 
I keep them^ though I know that she 

Will never need them more. 

But none of all these treasures, 

So like her looks, as does 
A pair of silken stockings, 

And a pair of half- worn shoes. 



200 SONGS OF THE WFST. 

Tiie little feet that wore them, 
So oft in infant play ; 

I listen for, and think I hear 
Their echoes far away. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 201 



ABRAHAM LINCOLX. 

A STRONG mau from the ranks of men uprose, 
Battling for Freedom, mighty 'gainst its foes ; 
Renowned in time of peace as well as war ; 
As oft Herculean tasks his strength did test, 
His stalwart strokes resounding near and far. 
Among the shades of our great, glorious West ; 
Meantime our Nation's wants had called him forth ; 

Looking upon him as the great Grod-send, 
In such rebellious times his strength to lend; 
No other name could call the uprisen North ; 
Conquest on conquest did his might achieve ; 
On Fame's loud trumpet-tongue his praise did swell ; 
Lincoln, the great, the good, the people grieve — 
Nobly he lived, by ignoble hand he fell. 



202 SONGS OF TUB WFST. 



AN HOUR PAST MIDNIGHT. 

'T WAS then slie died, 't was then she died, 

My sister young and fair ; 
Peacefully did her spirit ghde 
Adown the dark and narrow tide, 

And she lay like a sleeper there. 

I was not near, I was not near, 

"When she gave her parting breath ; 
But her dying words fell on my ear, 
As her accents strange I paused to hear, 
And I knew 't was the work of death. 

She came to die, she came to die, 

In this far-off prairie land ; 
She little thought her grave would lie 
Where the rank grass waves so tall and high, 

Where those white enclosures stand. 

I '11 deck her grave, I '11 deck her grave 
With the earliest flowers of Spring ; 

And the willow with its weeping wave, 

Shall ever softly, sweetly lave 
The offerings I '11 bring. 



SOJ:iGS OF TEE WEST. 203 

! the liour of one, the hour of one, 
When night hath her mantle spread ; 

As the hell e'er strikes that solemn tone, 

And I waken oft alone, alone, 
I think of my sister dead. 



204 SONGB OF THE WEST. 



A THOUGHT AT TWILIGHT. 

A SADNESS o'er my spirit steals 
As fades the light of day, 

A thought of grief my heart reveals 
That hath not passed away. 

With insect notes the air is rife, 
The stars look gently down, 

As if to chide the changeful life 
The human heart hath known. 

Uphraid me not, ye stars that shine 

So lovingly and bright. 
Ye list not what a world is mine 

Of mingled shade and light. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 205 



WHERE ARE THEY? 

" What bosom shall heave when. I sigh ? 
What tears shall respond when I weep ? 
To my sorrows wha t voice shall reply ? 
What eye mark the vigils I keep ? " 

Byron. 

The friends that stood around my path in summer's 

joyous hour, 
Before my soul had known this grief and felt its darkling 

power, 
Before life's fairer flowers all had faded from my brow, 
The friends that gathered 'round me then, oh ! where, 

where are they now ? 

I know a cloud, full thick and dark, has loomed up on 



up 



my way; 
No spot of sunshine from between may reach me many 

a day; 
And I shall sit in darkness now, with scarce a ray of 

light 
To break the deep, dim shadows that have turned my 

day to night. 

And I shall miss those household words that broke upon 
my ear ; 

And T shall often breathe a sigh, and drop a sorrowing- 
tear : 



206 SO^''GS OF THE WEST. 

But none but God will ever know how mucli tlie heart 

can bear, 
As where no other ear but His can hear my bitter 

prayer. 

And I have prayed, have prayed for death, which came 

not unto me ; 
Why should I live, or wish to live, when life a death 

can be ? 
Not for myself alone I ask the boon of living now. 
Only for these, for they are all that are left me here 

below. 

'T is not in gold, or glittering gems, or wealth, or power, 

or fame, 
Or house or home, or lands, for these have but an empty 

name 
To soothe the pained and weary heart, or give it rest 

and ease, 
To bid its wretchedness depart, and each wild tumult 

cease. 

^T is not of these I speak, but more, yet I can give 

them up, 
For not one drop that I may drink can overrun the cup 
That my unwilling lips have quaffed till there seemed 

nothing still 
To add to that full measure which a frowning fate 

could fill. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 207 

And now upon tlie stormy sea of life I stand alone ; 
No sails unfurled to catch the breeze, the spars and 

rudder gone, 
No anchor cast, no pilot's hand to guide me to the shore ; 
What shall I when the angry waves shall dash my 

vessel o'er ? 

The friends that sailed around me in a calm and placid 

sea, 
They were not made for suJOfering, what are such friends 

to me ? 
The fairest flowers I have worn have paled upon my 

brow, 
The friends that gathered round me then, oh ! where, 

where are they now ? 



208 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



TO IDA. 

A THOUGHT is in my heart, Ida, 

When shall we meet again ; 
For sometimes, when the loving part, 

They ever thus remain. 

My thoughts will turn to thee, Ida, 
When a cloud is o'er them cast, 

And thou wilt sometimes think of me 
When a lonely day is past. 

I shall miss thy pleasant face, Ida, 

At morning and at eve, 
And who will ever fill thy place. 

Or equal pleasure give ? 

The flowers will sweetly bloom, Ida, 
The flowers you love so well. 

And Autumn's tints and Winter's gloom 
Pass over hill and dale. 

And Spring times come and go, Ida, 

Of life and of the year, 
Nor each of us the other know. 

Nor each be other near. 



S02iGS OF THE WEST. 209 

The friendships of the heart, Ida, 

May not be lightly riven, 
We're joyful for the goodly part, 

AYhich hath to us been given. 

Amid the flights of time, Ida, 

As he plies his ceaseless wing, 
Where all things have their wane and prime 

And life 's a changeful thins;. 

Then a farewell word is light, Ida, 

And the sounds will pass away, 
In a world that 's beautiful and bright. 

Where reigns a nightless day. 



210 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



LINES. 

ADDRESSED TO THE PCTPILS OF G O FEMALE SEMINARY. 

There were school-girl days like yours, in a far-off 
Eastern land, 

Ye remind me of my scliool-day hours, amid that youth- 
ful band; 

They are scattered o'er the earth, from the East unto 
the West, 

And some have done with things of time, and entered 
into rest. 

Our hearts were light as yours, for they then were free 

from care, 
The summer sun shone in our hearts, 'twas summer 

always there ', 
And we gathered flowers, like you, of every hue and 

shade, 
From the fertile gardens of the mind, and from the 

verdant glade. 

And we treasured up the rare thoughts that came unto 

us then, 
I sweet, bright thoughts of early days, how ye bring 

them back again ; 



SO^'GS OF THE WEST. 211 

The deep impression which they made, effaced may 

never be, 
As they sealed the future, weal or woe, of our future 

destiny. 

Ye are a happy circle, of youth and children dear, 
And broken it hath never been, as onward year by 

year, 
Ye have passed with noble toil, for the meed of praise 

ye We won, 
May the choicest blessings on ye rest, until your toil be 

done. 



212 SOA'GS OF THE WEST. 



TO ADA. 

Addressed to Mrs. Wilbur, by the Principal of G o Female 

Seminary. 

We iove to hear tliy voice, Ada, 

Of music and of song; 
And love tlij gifts to 'twine, Ada, 

Our simple flowers among. ^^ 

We have no gifts like thine, Ada, 

To give thee in return ; 
But our hearts most true and kind, Ada, 

For thee in kindness burn. 

We are a happy band, Ada, 

For we are young, and free, 
As birds that sing all day, Ada, 

And roam the air in glee. 
But we hope when we are older, Ada, 

To be as wise as thou ; 
And sing and write of " Nettie " dear. 

As you for us do now. 

Our hearts are fresh and young, Ada, 

As summer blossoms now, 
They'll ne'er grow chill and cold, Ada, 

While the " fount of love " shall flow. 



SONGS OF THE ViEST. 213 

The summer flowers are gone, Ada, 

The autumn winds are here ; 
But the flowers of Love and Peace, Ada, 

Will ne'er be dry and sear. 

And may the '• fount of love," Ada, 

As it travels on its way ; 
But channel deeper for you^ Ada, 

To bless you every day. 
The flowers grow on its brink, Ada, 

Forever for fresh and fair ; 
The cold wind ne'er chills them, Ada, 

A golden sun is there. 



O, may you e'er be blest, Ada, 

With friends who love you well ; 
And the light of love and hope, Ada, 

Within your breast e'er dwell. 
A noble gift is thine, Ada, 

Of music and of song, 
And tuned will be your harp, Ada, 

The angels harps among. 



V>^e hope to learn the song, Ada, 

The angels sing above. 
While we are youno; and well, Ada, 

The song of peace and love. 



214 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

This world is bright and fair, Ada, 
Bat we know the angel-home 

Is brighter, fairer still, Adn, 
For God is there, the sim. 



SOXGS OF THE WFST. 215 



THE SILENT HARP. 

PART FIRST. 

I HUNG tlie harp long since away, 

Its strings neglected lie ; 
And many an unremembered lay, 

Hath pass'd my spirit by. 

The music of my soul is gone, 
And hushed each varied note ; 

A change the human heart hath known 
That wears not idly out. 

And time doth change ; the passing year 

How many a tale hath told, 
As onward in its swift career 

The ceaseless moments rolled. 

The stream that flow'd so gently on, 

With sunbeams dancing o'er. 
Is shadow 'd, and the flowery lawn 

Will blush at eve no more. 

But oh ! there is that ne'er should change- 
The heart's deep fount of love. 

And though all other thoughts estrange. 
Be sealed like that above. 



216 SONGS OF TEE WEST. 

PART SECOND. 

A fitful breath came sweeping o'er 

Its strings at even-tide ; 
Only one lay, one echo more, 

The shadowy spirit cried. 

And then there came an answering note, 

As each vibration drew 
An untold word, a hidden thought, 

And into form it grew. 

It had a memory of one (a deceased father,) 

Who sleeps a dreamless sleep. 
And one the sleeper well had known, 

Ne'er at his grave may weep. 

How many a circle time hath run, 

Since on that spot we met ; 
Thou early home and dear hearth-stone, 

How has thy glory set ? 

0, sweetly rest, far, far away 
From this wide prairie home; 

O tuneless harp, awake and play 
A dirge for that unseen tomb. 

Breathe forth a high, a holy hope, 

Ere thy faint echoes cease : 
That the loved spirit went not up. 

But in the light of Peace. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 217 



ELEGMAC LINES 

On tbe death of Parkman, a j'oung lad, son of W. O. and H. M. 
Rockwood, who was recently killed while playing in a cellar, 
by the falling in of a bank of earth. 

But yesterday around their board. 

Gathered a happy band j 
To-day, around one vacant place, 

A tearful group they stand. 

Two little feet will nevermore 

Come bounding in from play ; 
Two little hands have ceased their work, 

Pulseless in death they lay. 

The love-light of those beaming eyes 

Is looked for now in vain ; 
For never, through the livelong day, 

Will it return again. 

Fond mother, raise your weeping eyes, 

To yonder realms of light, 
And think your darling one is there, 

Though hidden from your sight. 

And father, when your eye is dim 
With tears you fain would hide. 

Think not your little Parkman lost, 
Though missing from your side. 



:18 SONGS OF TIIU WLST. 

Erotiicrs and sisters, ne'er forget 

One who to you was dear, 
Tlio' where you have been wont to meet, 

He is no longer near. 

O mourners for the early dead, 

Ye do not weep alone ; 
How many broken hearts to-day, 

Bleed for some idol gone. 

Some household god, at whose sweet shrine 

They daily knelt to pray. 
Till He, who looks with jealous eyes, 

Their treasure snatched away. 

We linger oft by lonely hearths, 
Whose fires have ceased to burn. 

And vainly watch for buried lights, 
Once quenched, that ne'er return. 

But as our cherished joys depart, 

And vanish, one by one, 
We '11 teach our wayward hearts to say, 

"Father, thy will be done." 



soyas OF the west. 219 



GOOD BYE 

'T IS a sad, sad word, but 'tis oi'tea heard 

As a tear-drop moistens the eye. 
And wherever we go, in this world below, 

We still hear the sound of good bye. 

'T is a sorrowful sound, and is always found, 

Though it be spoken joyfully, 
A gloom to east over thoughts of the past, 

And a dread of the bidding, good bye. 

We love to meet, and a friend to greet, 

For life's friendships quickly fly; 
But it seems a cloy to the present joy, 

When we utter the word, good bye. 

It is hard to stand, clasping another hand, 

Watching the swift minutes go by, 
When a few moments more, we must close the door 

On the loved form, and say, good bye. 

With an aching heart, from a friend we part, 

And whenever our last reply 
Breaks on the ear, we but only hear, 

The same tearful word, good bye. 



220 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

We hope to love in the world above, 
Where true love never will die ; 

Nor hear again, with a thrill of pain, 
That mournful sentence, good bye. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 221 



MY REQUEST. 

" I call each sear and yellow leaf, 
A buried Mend to me." 

0, DECK my grave -with flowers, 
When I am dead, 

Their sweet and fragrant bowers, 
Above me spread. 

Bring ye all kinds and colors 
To blossom there, 

Those of all tints and odoors. 
All that are fair. 

Bring 3^e the willow, weeping 
Forever on, . 

Plant it where I am sleeping. 
My grave upon.j 

And trailing vines and woodbine 
My tomb to shade; 

Such as I loved to entwine, 

Give to me, dead. 



222 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



LUTHEPt CEAWFOKD LADD. * 

" I sliall go for my stars and stripes. " 

LUTEEK C. LADD. 

Look back a space, four fleeting years, 
Unroll tlie badge yet batlied in tears ; 
Turn ye the sod that still is green . 
Here Lutlier Crawford Ladd is seen, 
Etched with a point, the sombrous flood, 
Reveals a record stained with blood. 

Can pen portray the murderous hour ? 
Reflect the fierce blade's fearful power. 
And he a bleeding corse was seen, 
Whose years but numbered seventeen. 

'' For my country's stars and stripes I '11 go." 
Only for a brief space, and so, 
Roll back the sod that ^oweth green : 

" Died, at Baltimore, April nineteen." 

Look forward through the deepening years ; 
A crown the hero-maityr wears; 
Dark was his fate, whose hand, I ween. 
Doomed the boy soldier of seventeen. 

*A Massachusetts volunteer, and the first victim of the war; 
killed by the rebels at Baltimore, April 19, 1861, aged 17 years. 



. SOXGS OF THE WEST. 223 



APUIL CLOUDS. 

Lights and shadows, tliey come and go, 

Witli ever varying motion ; 
As the dark and surging waters do, 

Of the ever restless ocean. 

And as children in a summer day 
Chase on in their youthful glee, 

Those momentary shadows play, 
O'er the bright aerial sea. 

And they wait not for the look or smile, 
Or the eye to class them there, 

But thwarting and convolved awhile, 
Vanish away in air. 

Float on ! ye vapory veils, float on ! 

' T is not for nought ye range 
The realms of. space, where the glorious sun 

Creates, and makes ye change. 



224 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 



A SONNET. 



How few but know tlie meaning of that word, 
And understand the lesson it conveys, 
As, being thwarted in some pleasant ways 
Which our convenience promised to afford ; 
Albeit, some trifling obstacle prevents 
The just accomplishment of cherished plans, 
Or, altogether hinders the events; 
And substitutes uncertain ifs and ands. 
And so forths, thus the poet now doth sing. 
Though fully intent on transient change of place, 
Dost rather (not with much of spirit grace,) 
Accept the bare intention 'stead the thing; 
Most happy they, who, with a peaceful soul, 
Yield uncomplainingly to Fate's control. 



SOiVGS OF THE WEST. 225 



KANKAKEE. 

It fs a cliarming little place, 
Rarely excelled in rural grace ; 
Its winding river bears tlie name 
Of city built upon tbe same ; 
No clearer waters may we see. 
Than flow adown the Kankakee. 

With dwelling, church, and well filled store, 
It boasts four thousand souls or more ; 
People of every trade and craft, 
With warp and woof enough to waft 
Thoughts, like to winged spirits free 
From yon bright city, Kankakee. 

June odors penetrate each room, 
June roses, too, are in the bloom; 
What joy to v/ander far away, 
And pluck the fragrant flower to-day. 
From bending bush, and branching tree. 
Embowering the Kankakee. 

Great cities often are, at best, 

Places wherein we sigh for rest ; 

Rest, which not for our sighing comes, 

As may be found in rural homes ; 

And here 's a heart that sighs for thee, 

Sequestered vale of Kankakee. 
10* 



220 SChXaS 01 THE ^yEST. 



FEEE. • 

As free as a bird of the air, 

When it soars through the ether away. 
When no tempest, nor storm, nor the winds, 

Can the flight of its free pinions stay. 

As free as the sweet-scented flower. 
That blooms on i'aQ prairie all doy, 

Or the sunshine that sleeps on its breast, 
Or the dew drops that late on it lay. 

As free as all nature can be. 

In her freaks that she plays like a child. 
When she laughs or she cries in her game, 

And fliirly she seems to run wild. 

Fi'om vain wishes and vainer dfsires. 

As free as the freest can be, 
I ask not; I care not for else, 

O ! this is the freedom for me. 



SOKGS OF TEE WEST. 227 



MAY. 

May, smiling May, 

Is with us to-day. 
Renewed by the late April ahowers ; 

Bedecked like a queen. 

Yet more beauteous, I ween, 
She brings us the fl\irest of flowers. 

May, budding May, 
Each branch doth o'erlay 

"With green leaves the glory of Spring; 
Whither song birds may come, 
For a sweet Summer home. 

To enchant with the songs they may sing. 

M^y, joyous May, 

Ne'er bride was more gay. 
Than she, in her bright robes arrayed; 

Mossy carpets she weaves. 

Till her bosom upheaves 
With the wealth by its labor betrayed. 

May, fairy May, 
Like an elfin at play, 



228 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



Scatters fragrance witli bounteous hand; 

Enough, and to spare. 

Unto each that will share. 
Through the length and the breadth of the land. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 229 



JUNE. 

Of tlie fair sisters three, 

The fairest to see, 
She comes with her hands full of roses; 

Having been at her play. 

Through the advent of May, 
She now works while her sister reposes. 

May, April, and June, 
This best suits our tune, 

The sunshine and shadow combining; 
April, sister of tears, 
May, more glory wears, 

June, rose wreaths for all is entwining. 

Young, pet, but not spoiled, 

Not a fair, fair page spoiled 
Like a writer's unskillful in rhyming; 
Not a beauty is lost, 
Wont to charm us the most, 
As may follow a discord in chiming. 

Of this beautiful maid. 
Let each one that is staid 
In old ways, a new lesson be learning ; 



230 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

That if sorrow beguiles, 
There ar3 joys, sighs, and smiles, 
That are horn, if the spirit be yearning. 

If dark clouds and rain, 

Again and again, 
Overspread, till the sad heart repining, 

Sees nothing but gloom, 

Eemember the bloom, 
And the sun that, though hidden, is shining. 

June roses and bloom. 

Just out of the gloom. 
Show that life over death is excelling ; 

With a deep meaning rife, 

Resurrectiouized life, 
June buddings and blossoms are swelling. 



SONGS OF TEE WEST. 231 



BOUNCI^a BETTY. 

Get up, pretty maiden, and make your bed, 
The frosts are gone, and the sun is red ; 
The blandest of breezes are floating by, 
And the soft clouds hang in the silvery sky. 

Get up, get up ! for the spring has come, 
And the dear little birds are flying home ', 
The dew drops lie on the fresh young grass, 
And are waiting to welcome you as they pass. 

Wake up, wake up ! and look at the light, 
And dream no more of the long, long night ; 
The lily has risen up ever so high, 
And the lilac is flinging its incense nigh. 

Lie not so still 'mid the voice of song, 
And the odor of flowers so sweet and strong ; 
Though homely your name, you are fair to see, 
And ever the love of the honey bee. 

0, sleep no more, for the greenest green 
In the valleys and over the hills is seen ; 
For the violets blue are now peeping out, 
And the daisies are dallying all about. 



232 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

The leaflets are spreading tliemselves to tlie sun, 
And tlie cowslips to blossom have just begun ; 
The primrose is greeting the dull buttercup, 
With her choicest of fragrance^ get up ! get up ! 



SO^'-GS OF TEE WEST. 233 



WISHES. 

I WISH I were a shining star, 

Set in a paling sky; 
Sending my brightest beams afar, 

When shadows flitted by. 

I wish I were a sweet-voiced bird, 

To sing my tuneful lay, 
When the leaves with softest airs are stirred 

Just at the break of day. 

I wish I were a fairy queen, 

O'er a fair realm to reign ; 
I 'd guide my subjects well, I ween, 

And treat none with disdain. 

I wish I were a butterfly, 

Tarrrying but for a time ; 
I 'd spread my tinted wings and try 

To find a fairer clime. 

I wish I were the God of Love 
When his arrows sure he throws. 

Some heart my latent power should move 
With love for me, who knows ? 



SONGS OF TEE WEST. 

I wish I were some other self, 

Anything hut I am ; 
I 'm weary of this drone and delf, 

Always the very same. 

I wish, but wishes are vain things, 
And give not what we ask ; 

I '11 cease my vague imaginings, 
And seek a nobler task. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 235 



SUMMER MUSINGS. 

The sunshine after rain, 
Out yonder lie tlie yellow fields; 
The earth her golden harvest yields, 

Of flower, fruit, and grain. 

The reapers' shouts are glad, 
For favors from the Unseen Hand, 
That scatters plenty through the land ; 

And how can one be sad ? 

Down in yon quiet dale 
The honeysuckle lures the bee ; 
The amateur of flowers may see 

The lilies of the vale. 

E'en Solomon in state 
Could not outvie this simple flower, 
Clothed by the same Almighty Power 

That fixes human fate. 

Each blade of grass so green, 
Phoenix-like, from dead ashes grew ; 
Each keeping still its drop of dew, 

ThouGfh all unlike is seen. 



235 SONGS OF TEE WEST. 

The flower, grass, and grain, 
Gay-plumed birds on glancing wing, 
His goodness and His glory sing ; 

The sunshine and the rain. 



SONGS OF TEE WEST. 237 



THE CROWN. 

My crown is in my heart ; not on my head."— Shakespeare. 

Who wisteth what their crown shall be, 

Whose is an anxious brow ? 
The thoughts of it bewilder me — 

Bewilder even now. 

Though some, led on by lure of gain, 

Lose sight of higher things, 
r 11 calmly yield my soul to pain, 

For the recompense it brings. 

If others strangely careless seem, 

'Till the swift years be past, 
I must each fleeting point redeem, 

For the reward at last. 

Like the wise virgins, famed of old, 

My midnight lamp I' 11 trim, 
Lest, when my Master's feast He hold, 

Its Hght be burning dim. 

Or in the heart, or on the head, 

Our crown may find its place ; 
The vantage ground that all may tread, 
, Covei's but little space. 



238 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 

Out yonder stands tlie waiting goal- 
The victors enter in ; 

Whose name is on tlie muster-roll ? 
Who striveth, sure shall win. 



soyas OF THE WEST. 239 



GENTLE WORDS. 

Speak gently, it may dry the tear 
From some sad. tearful eye, 

May bid some face a smile to vrear, 
Repress some rising sigh. 

Speak gently when the strong man falls 
From youth's first love away, 

For ever to his heart there calls 
Sad voices of to-day. 

Speak gently when the mother weeps 

Above her early dead, 
For 't is a weary watch she keeps, 

Then softly, lightly tread. 

Speak gently to the little one, 

Its heart is free from care. 
And it will learn, alas! full soon, 

What life's stern lessons are. 

Speak gently to the .erring, when 
From virtue's path they stray : 

Perchance, a kind word spoken then 
May point the better way. 



240 SO^^GS OF THE WEST. 

Speak gently unto all, for tliou 
A gentle word may crave, 

And then it will remind thee, how 
^T was in thy power to save. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 241 



ONE ONLY. 

One little pet, 

To love me yet, 
Though all else are unheeding ; 

To come to my arms, 

Radiant with charms, 
While the dull hours are speeding. 

One little love, 

A sweet-voiced dove, 
Through all the long days singing j 

When the sun comes down. 

Turning sere and brown, 
The branch of olive bringino:. 



■O' 



11 



One little flower. 

To grace my bower, 
Where all is fading, dying; 

With a fragrant breath, 

In this vale of death, 
Tho shafts of Fate defying. 

One little sweet, 
Around my feet, 



242 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

That tread no path of roses ; 
All the thorns to turn, 
As they follow the uro, 

Where the dust of the dead reposes. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 243 



THE PARTING. 

The dreaded hour came at last, 

The dearest love of youth was past. 

Past was the joy that ! so long 

Had blessed and made my spirit strong : 

A shadow on my pathway fell, 

With those last words, farewell, farewell ! 

The shrouded form that silent lies 
Before us when the dear one dies, 
Throws back its image on the heart, 
But when we from the living part. 
Like some unwelcome funeral knell, 
It comes to us, farewell ! farewell ! 

What hath been cherished gone before, 
That which hath been, to be no more, 
The faded light of other years, 
The future with its hopes and fears, 
Came o'er me like some secret spell; 
AYith those sad words, farewell ! farewell ! 

The clammy drops stood on my brow, 
I feel their dampness even now ; 
And tear-drops on m}^ heart there lay. 
That never can be washed away; 



244 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

No pen can write, nor tongue can tell, 
How deep the words, farewell ! farewell ! 

And as the swift hours glided by ; 

I felt alas ! how bitterly 

The heart can feel bat still live on, 

When that which nourished it hath gone ; 

! none but they who know, can tell 

How hard to say farewell I farewell ! 

A hidden fount that long had slept 

Within my breast was touched, I wept; 

Wept as doth weep a little child, 

Wept with a grief both strange and wild, 

And often will the bosom swell, 

With those last words, flirewell ! farewell ! 



SONGS OF TUB WEST. 245 



TO THE ABSENT. 

Forget thee ? No I can I forget 

One always dear to me ? 
Though other thoughts oppress me, yet 

Will I remember thee. 
Though winter, with his icy arms 
Has fled, and spring with all its charms 
Its smiling on us from the plain, 
The forest, and the rill again, 
Though birds of sweetest carolling 
Among the new-born foliage sing, 
And every breath of every breeze 
Awakens tenderest sympathies, 
Without THEE T am lonely still, 
And I but bear thy absence ill. 
The changing seasons come and go, 
And earthly prospects ebb and flow, 
And what we have not known we know, 
As of the simple and the strange, 

Alike our destiny - 
So, all the things bear the marks of change, 

But my heart's love to thee. 



:16 SONGS Of THE WFST. 



LILLIE. 

She sleeps, all in the spring-time, 

One of its early flowers ; 
I know it b}^ tlie mournful chime 

That breaks the morning hours. 

8he plumed her little wings for fiighf, 
Like birds of wandering wing. 

And left this sphere of shade and light, 
In other spheres to sing. 

But birds and flowers will come again. 
Though we ne'er hear her song, 

When balmy winds sweep o'er the plain, 
And dewy bowers among. 

Plant on her grave the lily white, 

All of the purest hue ; 
And Anemone, so frail and llglit, 

For she was fragile too. 

A floweret of a fairer clime. 
Among the heavenly bowers, 

Transplanted in the spring-time, 
One of its early flowers. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 247 



LITTLE DAISY. 

" ' Daisy is in Pleaven,' said little Katy, musingly. ' "Why do you 
cry, mamma ? Don't j'ou like to have God keep her for j'ou ? ' "— 
Muth Halt. 

I HAD a little Daisy once, 

It was an autumn flower ; 
And when tlie days grew cold and chill, 
It faded from my bower. 

The blighting frosts my Daisy touched, 

I felt their withering breath 
Fall on my blossom, as it lay 

In the embrace of death. 

I had no other Daisy, then, 

'T was " Benjamin " alone ; 
Nothing to twine my love around, 

'When my sweet bud was gone. 

I note the time, since Daisy died, 

Spring, with its early bloom, 
The Summer with its sultry suns. 

The deep autumnal gloom. 

And where they laid my Daisy, dear, 

The winter, with its snows, 
Enshroud like some good angel wing. 

When the rude North wind blows. 



218 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

But still, my little Daisy lives, 
And at each morn' and even' 

I pray my darling one and I 
May meet again in Heaven. 



iiONGS 01 TEE WEST. 249 



GONE. 

Now nought is left but silence : silence evermore. 

Where "Little Katie" used to play, 
And make it suiisliiae every day, 
A shadow dim has passed before ; 
Alas ! 't is " silence evermore." 

No little voice, nor look, nor smile, 

To lure the heart from care the while. '^ 

No, her sjveet ministry is o'er, 

'T is nought but " silence evermore." 

And every token still is vain, 
To bring the dear one back again ; 
And vainer, fondest wishes, for 
It still is "silence evermore." 

How many faces sad to see, 
Where "Little Katie" used to be ; 
How many hearts have felt the power 
Of that lone "silence evermore." 

11* 



250 SONGS OF THE WBST. 



DREAMING. 

I 'vE been dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, 

Of a Lome away^ 
Where the sun is brightly gleaming, 

And the shadows play; 
Where my sweet-voiced little children 

Came to me in glee. 
Then it was a happy greeting. 

When they came to me. 

I 've been dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. 

Of a buoyant youth, 
With a mind with knowledge beaming. 

And a love of truth ; 
Ever onward, ever upward. 

Be his motto now, 
Till he winneth greater laurels 

Than the conqueror's brow. 

I Ve been dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. 

Of a maiden fair ; 
With her eyes of gentle seeming. 

And her shining hair ; 
Of her brow as fresh as morning, 

Where I used to kiss, 
All along my daily pathway. 

These are what I miss. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 251 

I 've been dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, 

Over all the past, 
Of the future as its shadows 

All before are cast; 
O'er the future, past and present, 

Of life's ceaseless stream, 
Would that I could think it only 

As an idle dream. 



SChVGS 01 THE WEST. 



THEY PI AVE FxlDED AWAY. 

A JUVENILE OFFERING. 

My summer flowers have ftided away, 
Their withered leaves in the garden lay; 

I loved to gather them every day, 

I shall gather no more, they have faded away. 

My violets blue have faded away " 

Which I culled from the prairie in May, sweet May. 
The loveliest things are of briefest stay, 

For my violets blue have faded away. 

The crimson rose has faded away 

That climbed on the lattice every day. 
Where a pleasant shade for my dear ones to play 

It madcj but alas ! it has faded away. 

The cypress wreaths have faded away, 
The frost-king came one darksome day — • 

I saw where his snow-white fingers lay, 
And they, with the rest, have faded away. 

Many pure, bright thoughts have faded away 

That came with the flowers every day ; 
I treasured some in my heart to lay, 

But the rest with the flowers have faded away. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 253 

Sweet flowers, bright thoughts, they have faded away. 

Yet above their tomb a voice seems to say 
They will come again on another day, 

And thou shalt not say " they have faded away/^ 



254 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



TO JENNIE. 



BY CARACTICAS. 



Who is Jennie, this sweet songstress ? 

O, how lovely slie must be ; 
Thus I've mused for hours together, 

All my thoughts bent straight on thee. 
Bent on thee, Jennie, though I know not 

Who thou art, or what you be. 

Still, I believe thou art lovely, Jennie, 
And I know your mind is pure ; 

Yes, 't is pure and bright as silver, 
Or the water brought of yore 

From the rocks, by God's own order, 
That into Israel's camp did pour. 

I wish I knew you better, Jennie, 
I wish we even once had met ; 

But ah ! I fear that single meeting 
I should ne'er again forget, 

But wish that we had " never parted," 
Or that we had '• never met/' 

Farewell, Jennie, Fame's loud trumpet. 
Will drive away all thoughts of me; 



r:> 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 

The laurel wreath around thy temple, 
Shall proud admirers bring to thee; 

But be thou careful, gentle Jennie, 
Trust not all who bend the knee. 



256 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



/ 
A PICTURE. 

They call me Jennie, and the name 

Is short and sweet 3 
And yet, though strange, I seldom turn, 

The sound to greet. 

A trifle above medium height, 

Slender and tall ; 
Of modest mein, and measured tread, 

Graceful withal. 

Withmizel eyes, and brow serene, 

Complexion fair; 
A sad, yet smiling countenance, 

And dark brown hair. 

Which once was much disposed to curl, 

But not mubh now ; 
It gently undulates above 

A low, calm brow. 

The lips compressed, as if deep thought 

Engrossed the mind ; 
With manners affable to win ; 

Pleasant, and kind. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 257 

Of habit, taciturn and mild, 

Loquacious, rare; 
Though gifted in the arts of speech, 

Of language spare. 

Ignoring much the common craft 

Of gossip-lore ; 
But gi^en to the higher arts 

Of learning, more. 

T moods of lightness, seldom lent. 

Of pensive cast ; 
Delighting in retirement most, 

The Picture hast. 



158 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



THE PICTURE.' 



TO JENNIE, BY ANON.] 



A PICTURE, rich aud rare, I've fuuKd, 

All set in diamonds bright ; 
And if you look at it with care, 
Its beauties flash in any light. 
'T is of a lady, 
Sweet and fair, 
'• With hazel eyes, and dark brown hair." 

A stranger whom — (I've never met.) 
Of graceful form and modest mien ; 
"A sad, yet smiling countenance," 
Complexion fair, and brow serene," 
Her name I know, 
And here repeat, 
'Tis simply "Jennie, short and sweet." 

The "picture" I have studied well, — 

Approve it — (and just here would say:) 
The owner something I could tell. 
If she should ever chance this way 
And here would say, 
I love this sweet 
And cliarming, little '^ Carte de Visile.'' 



SOXGS OF TIFF WFST. 250 



" TO ANON." 

A WORD of thanks to the unknown 
Admirer of the lines, my own 

Humble ph3^sique portrayed; 
AVould the original had come. 
In guise to merit praises, some 

More tilting garb arrayed. 

But since •' Anon " was pleased to see 
The written portraiture of me, 

A poetess by fame, 
As unpretending as the lines 
Through which my mental beauty shines, 

To beautify my name 3 

Since it hath prompted a response, 
It also prompteth me, at once, 

To acknowledge the receipt, 
By •' Union" from some flowery vnle, 
As that should be called, "A^alley Dcile," 

Of a httlc " Carte de Vmicr 

Most lovely must be "Valley Dale," 
A nd beautiful the Hlies pale 



260 SOXGS OF THE WEST. 

That grace each fragrant uook ; 
Alas ! that pent in city walls, 
I ne'er may see its rustic halls, 

Nor on its wealth e'er look. 

And, since the boon my fate denies, 
To bask beneath those azure skies, 

To seek that sunny spot, 
I'll sing my glad songs day by day, 
And strive to learn as well as I may 

Contentment with my lot. 



SOJ^GS OF THE WEST. 261 



TO MRS. WILBUR. 



BY ANON. 



That little "picture" still I keep, 
And often at it take a peep ; 

For tliroiigli it shines, 

More glorious far, 
A soul outvieing any star, 

A mine of beau- 

Ty and of worth. 
More valued than the mines of earth. 

How then could I, with artist's eye, 
Pass such a little treasure by ; 

No ! I must pause, 

And look again, 
For thus the ''picture'^ doth remain, 

Engraven deep- 

Ly on my heart, 
That beauteous, charming little carte. 

The lines I wrote were not in view, 
Of calling out such "thanks from you. 

The Union's pet, 

A poetess by fame ; " 



202 SONGS OF THE WFST. 

By nature, practice, too, I claim ; 

Kindly accep- 

Tcd though they be. 
And here acknowledged are by me. 

Ah ! pity that such worth as thine, 
In "city's pent up" halls should pine, 

Its freshness thus 

To waste away, 
'Mid towering walls of stone and clay. 

Why not the privi- 

Lege avail 
Thyself, and "seek out Valley Dale." 

A beauteous "nook" as e'er was seen. 
Is Valley Dale all clad in green • 

Where warble wild 

Birds from each tree. 
On the banks of lovely Kankakee ; 

The sun shines bright 

Ly in this vale. 
This "fragrant nook," sweet Valley Dale. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 203 



AN ACROSTIC SONNET. 

INSCRIBED TO "S. P. S." 

Softer than dews adown the twilight skies. 

Have fallen thine accents on my listening ear ; 

Each strain, spell-bound and wrapt, I paused to hear ; 

Placed in my heart's shrine, thy soul's utterance lies, 

Away from fear of canker or decay; 

Refreshing oft the parched and arid ground ; 

Dearer to me than all things else around ; 

Purer than silver still thy fancy's play; 

So, when the graces fiiir their awards make, 

May thine for honor, nobleness be given ; 

In true heart, and with merit, hast thou striven; 

Triumphant ever thou, for all which, sake, 

Hast thou ray meed of heartfelt praise to-day. 



264 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



ACROSTICAL. 



Answer to " An Acrostic Sonnet," by Jennie Aurelia Wilbur. 

Jewels oftimes bedeck the crown, 

That weary rests upon the brow ; 
Earth's rarest gems we've often knovfn, 

To fail in their elfect e'er now. 
No rose that blooms however sweet, 

But hath a hidden thorn somewhere ; 
No joys of life, howe'er complete, 

That has no counterpart of caye ; 
In jewels bright, in starry crowns, 

In richest gems, in purest joy, 
E'en sweetest smiles oft turn to frowns, 

And all earth's pleasures some alloy. 

And then among the darkest clouds. 

That sometimes o'er our skies abound, 
Under the gloom that us enshrouds, 

A silver lining 's often found. 
Remembering thus, all through our lives, 

Where much is evil, there' ^ some good ; 
Enduring wrong, when it arrives, 

And not o'er life's afflictions brood. 



S0.YG3 OF THE WEST. 265 

And we, through life, should ever strive 

To make the most of blessings here — 
Let rude winds blow, our frail barks drive, 

A harbor then 's all more the dear. 
In pondering o'er the world's great plan, 

We find that good and evil 's given • 
And we should seek on life's brief spa^n. 

The part to choose, which ends in Heaven. 

With pleasure, then, to this, thj creed I 

Would I subscribe — and you, fair friend, 
In giving me your " heartfelt meed,'' 

Our souls in nvatual oneness blend • 
Let U3 strive on, though e'er so dearth] 

The way that bids our hearts aspire, 
Beyond the grovelings of earth. 

To soiaething better, nobler, higher. 
Up to that goal, where joys await, 

And "Clnices'' strew the way with flowers, 
Heceive our welcomes at the gate, 

And enter (he Elysian bowers. 
12 



266 SONGS OF THE W£ST. 



THE BRIDAL WREATH. 

" I '11 not repine o'er summers past.'' 

As carelessly I strayed one day, 

Among the garden bowers, 
I plucked from off the blooming spray, 

One of the fairest flowers. 

And, eagerly I took it home, 
A dear and cherished thing, 

To grace my summers yet to come, 
And joy and pleasure bring. 

The flower was the bridal wreath, 

Entwined in beauty there ; 
1 knew not that withering brcjith 

Had touched its petals fair. 

I looked upon it, with delight. 
Till life seemed new, once more, 

Not thinking that the darkest night. 
Had hung my blossoms o'er, 

liut soon, I knew that all was past— 
The truth, the love, the joy; 

And felt that some strange power at last, 
('ould, even these, destroy. 



SO^^CS OF THE WEST. 267 

Too late, I found that I had brought 

This flower to fill my train ; 
For never will it, as I thought, 

Bloom, as it grew, again. 



268 SO.VGS OF TUB WEST. 



LOOKINa BACK. 

0, GIVE me back my early years, 
The liglit heart aud the free; 

What 's left hath but a trace of tears^ 
For weary eyes to see. 

Give back the love that bound me then, 

The broken ties restore ; 
I cannot worship truly, when 

When my idols are no more. 

I've taught my heart to hope with fear. 

So fleeting are life's joys; 
Lest with a touch profane, it tear 

Away my treasured toys. 

For, like some child who loved its play, 
Pleased with that play alone ; 

I thought not that I held to-day — 
To-morrow might be gone. 

But, even riper age has shown 

Traces of childhood still; 
Although to goodly stature grown. 

With woman's way and will. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 269 

1 wliy regret my early years ? 

My heart 's yet light and/ree; 
And I have smiles as well as tears, 

For loving eyes to see. 



270 SOXGS OF THE ]VEST. 



LOOKINa FORAYAKD. 

Answer to "Looking Back." 

INSCRIBED TO MU3. WILBUIJ. 

0, Wiir repine for former years, 

For childhood's happy hours; 
For "broken ties/' "love," long since fled, 
Youth's brightest visions, hopes now dead, 

To call them once more ours ? 

The "idols" of our '^early love" 

Lie broken, scattered now; 
The shrines whereon our gifts were laid, 
By Time's relentless hand, is made 

A dark one where to bovf. 

But why look back, or e'er repine 

For the joys long since fled ? 
Know that the present claims ih.ee now, 
And " laurel wreaths" may crown thy brow; 

The future do not dread. 

Then grieve not for the " dimning past," 

But let thy heart aspire 
To nobler deeds ; "act well your part" 
In doing good, and let thy heart 

And thoughts be onward, higher. 



soyas OF tee west. 971 

The present claims tliee for its strife ; 

The past leave to the ''fates;" 
Shake every burden from thy soul, 
And "forward look unto that goal," 

Where fime and honor waits. 

Shed no more tears for what is past, 

For grief doth never pay ; 
Adieux to sorrows, hopes now fled, 
Be joyous, smile, and look ahead, 

And happy while you may. 



272 SONGS OF THE WFST. 



MYSELF. 

" The proper study of mankind is man." 

A MYSTERY is myself to me, 

Invoking oft the aid 
Of staunch and true philosophy, 

Which only doth upbraid 
My lack of prescience, so much, 

I am bewildered still ; 
And if assured — its power is such — 

Convinced against my will. 

Sometimes I seem two beings, both 

In contrariety; 
And then to doubt I 'm nothing loth 

Such impropriety; 
At one time I am moved to love, 

The soul's sweet inner rest ; 
And then asrain dark tides doth move 

The passions of my breast. 

At other times I 'm prone to hate; 

Alas ! that v/oman should — 
Until some softer spell abate 

Each strong but transient mood ; 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 273 

Then pity prompts me for awhile, 

Some soothing words to say ; 
And thus between the tear and smile, 

I pass my life away. 

The good and bad do each control, 

The light and then the shade ; 
The wheat and chaff comprise the whole, 

Of which the grain is made ; 
But soon the scorching fires shall burn 

The dross away, and I, 
Myself, with unclogged spirit, turn 

Toward immortality. 



12* 



274 SONGS OF THE WHST. 



TO J. A. W. 



BY "ANON.' 



Aha ! at last I've found you, 

Have heard again your song, 
For wliicli I've waited anxiously, 

And listened for it long; 
Those accents softly stealing 

Along, I hear once more, 
And give them gladly welcome, 

As oft in days of yore. 

That little '• Carte de Visile, 

I'm keeping yet of thee, 
Which, years agone, in " Valley Dale," 

By " Union " came to me. 
Altho' you've doffed your nom de plume, 

Your song's still just as sweet; 
Once more, by way of " Union,'^ 

My wayward muse doth greet. 

And so yourself, a "mystery,'* 
Unto yourself hath grown — 

We all might say the same of us. 
For the very little known; 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 

But " stauncli and true philosopliy," 
Does much of life comprise ; 

With that — and i*J"ature's teachings — 
We should beome more wise. 

AYe know " the proper study 

Of manki^, is man/' 
And few ihsitieiwn their lesson^ 

Let them study all they can; 
Mankind a mystery always 

To every mortal human ; 
But yet a greater mystery, 

To all mankind — is woman ! 



276 SO^^GS OF THE WEST. 



TO '-'ANON/' 

Full many a sun had swept the sky; 
Full many a moon shone sortly by, 

Since thou had'st breathed my name; 
How strange it sounded to my ear; 
How wonderingly I paused to hear, 

As o'er the waste it came. 

Like some loved voice oft heard of yore, 
Whose well-known echoes wake no more 

The lonely vale or stream; 
Along the intervening space, 
Penned by the poet's matchless grace. 

It broke upon my dream. 

For I am dreaming, dreaming still, 

Of yonder high and flower-crowned-hill, 

And of a far-off vale ; 
AVliere erst the roses bloomed for me; 
Where warbler's woke each way-side tree — 

My heart's sweet " Yalley Pale." 

But now the shadows steal along; 
The 3 ears bring burdens to my song ; 



SO^GS OF THE WEST. 

Life's mirage thralls the light ; 
Would that my muse might soar for thee, 
Nothing on earth should be more free, 

Than my fond fancy's flight. 



278 SONGS 01 THE WEST. 



TO J. A. W. 



BY "ANON.' 



A PLEASURE 'tis; fair poetess, 

To acknowledge the receipt, again, 

Of your sweet song; and none the less, 
Does gladness mingle in each strain, 

Than when your muse, in days of yore, 

Sang for me on a distant shore. 

^T is true that " many a sun its course, 

Has daily swept the azure sky ; " 

*' Full many a moon ^' has waxed and waned ; 

In silver light "shone softly by;" 

The changing seasons went and came. 

Yet oft, in each, " I 've breathed your name.' 

And that sweet voice, in years agone, 
Would haunt me whereso'er I go ; 

And yet I 've waited, oh ! so long, 

One more sweet strain of yours to know; 

Its accents sweet, once more, I hear, 

Come gently stealing on my ear. 

And thou art dreaming ? dream no more 
" Of yonder high and flower-crowned hill," 



SO^-GS OF THE WEST. 279 

" Where erst the roses bloomed before ;" 
For me the warbler's song is still, 
And stranger feet now tread the vale, 
Of once, "my heart's sweet Valley Dale." 

Alas ! that '' shadows '' thus should fall, 

Athwart the pathway of yoicr life ; 
Yet, "years bring burdens'' to us all, 

With cares, and sorrows, joys and strife. 
0, may your future pathway be 
With flowers strewn — from " mirage " free. 



280 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



LOST STARS. 



'T IS said tliat stars fade from tlie heavens away, 

And ever after they are lost to sight, 

Leaving behind naught but the dark, dim night, 

Where once there shone full many a glittering ray, 

Perchance the star of hope to some glad eye, 

Of mariner launched upon the sea of life. 

Uncertain 'mid its turmoil and its strife, 

Whether its friendly beams would still be nigh : 

So fade the lights from out the firmament 

Of our hearts, love, joy, ambition, all 

Die and are covered with a pail, 

Yet, oftimes by the hand of mercy sent. 

To lure us onward to that shining shore, 

Where hopes ne'er die, nor stars dim evermore. 



SOXGS OF THE }V£Sr. 281 



VfHY? 

"\YiiY question we to-day ? 
Tlie mortal powers that reign awhile ; 
The frown that follows every smile; 

The life doomed to decay; 
The thorns that fill a wondrous pile; 

The flowers that fade away. 

Why doth the noxious tare 
Grow side by side with the golden grain ; 
The parasites of woe and pain, 

Our pleasures link with care ; 
And evermore some sad refrain 

Mingle with each sweet air? 

Yv'hy will they come, and come ? 
The petty, nameless ills of life ; 
The peace so near allied to strife, 

To thoroughfare and home ; 
To each sweet spot with sunshine rife, 

"Why will the shadows come ? 

Why are we born to die ? 
Why is life but a little brealh ? 



SONGS OF THE WUST. 

The preludo to tlie pass of death ; 

Whence many travellers hie ; 
A -worni lies coiled in each green wreath ; 

Who doe.'* not wonder why ? 



SOjYGS of the west. 2Si 



THE IPJSII PAUPER. 

I '31 here alone, I 'm here alone — 

I pine for want of bread ; 
The brightness of my eye is gone, 
The aims and hopes of life are done — 

I 'm numbered with the dead. 

They are not here, they are not here, 

Who cheered my lonely home ; 
I saw them borne upon the bier, 
And not a sigh or melting tear 
From heart or eye could come. 

I loved too well, I loved too well, 

What penury hath riven ; 
They 're sleeping in yon narrow dell, 
Nor mound nor stone their resting tell- 

Those dear ones to me given. 

And by their side, and by their side, 

There sleepeth yet another ; 
G od ! but help me now to bide 
This dark and overwhelming tide 
Of woe — 't w.is wife ard mother. 



284 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

And on "her breast, and on her breast, 

Metbinks I bear its weeping ; 
They laid an infant form to rest. 
Its wasted limbs her dead hands pressed — 
Together they are sleeping. 

There 's nothing left, there 's nothing left, 

That I had loved or cherished ; 
My life in its beginnings cleft — 
Of every human hope bereft — 
They all^ they all have perished. 



SONGS OF THE WEST. 285 



WINTER AND MY HExiRT. 

Crystal snows of arctic clime, 
Spars and frosts, and wintry time. 
Leafless brandies wide are seen, 
But my heart beats fresh and green. 

What is colder than the snow ? 

Or than wintry storms that blow : 

Yet how little do I ween, 

Since my heart beats fresh and green. 

Think you that my heart is old ? 
One true pulse, even dead and cold ; 
Of affection — love, I mean — 
No, my heart lives fresh and green. 

Earth to nature's laws must yield, 
Blooming garden, verdant field; 
Bloom-swept, life and death between, 
Yet my heart blooms fresh and green. 

2Not the storm that rudely falls, 
With its blast my heart appals ; 
Sorrow's shafts have 'been as keen. 
Still, my heart bounds fresh and green^ 



286 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

All is tinctured with decay, 

Of to-day and yesterday ; 

What we 've seen, or have not seen. 

But my heart, that 's fresh and green. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 2fe7 



MY GRAVE. 

O ! BURY me not in the sea so deep, ' 

Where the monsters of the ocean sleep, 

And the serpent forms of that watery clime 

Wo aid gather around me all the time; 

Where mermaids and mermen their dark wings fold, 

And, like bacchanals, their revels hold ] 

For I would not that my grave should be 

With the nameless dwellers of the sea. 



O ! bury me not on the lonely shore, 

Where the wild surf beats, and the tempests roar; 

Where the swelling tides would wash away. 

Some cherished memento every day, 

And wrap in dark and withering gloom, 

The sweet surroundings of the tomb ; 

For I would not that my grave should lie 

Ilamirked and noteless, when I die. 



I bury me not in the silent glade, 
AVliere the dark boughs wave in the sunless shade ; 
Where the beasts of the forest their orgies hide. 
And with stealthy step through the darkness glide, 



288 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

Aud the owl chimes out its desolate song 
The valleys and echoing hills among ; 
For I would not that my grave should stand 
As a way -mark, set along the land. 

But bury me in some lovely spot. 

Where the foot of the intruder cometh not ; 

Where the sweet birds sing, and the leafy trees 

Make answer to the whispering breeze. 

And dear ones may come at the close of the day, 

To give a thought to the mouldering clay; 

For I would that my grave should be 

Where the tear of love would be shed for me. 



SOiYGS OF THE WEST. 289 



A FEW MORE. 

A FEW more days alio Lted here, 

A few more weeks to spend; 
Till sullied pleasures, sordid care, 

And days and weeks shall end. 

A few more suns sweep through the sky, 
A few more moons grow dim ; 

And, passed into Eternity, 
Chanted the funeral hymn. 

A few more battles, hardly fought; 

A few more victories won, 
By might of toils and labors wrought, 

And toiling time is done. 

A few more loved eyes kindly light, 

A few more kindling rays 
Break o'er the darkling brow of nioht- 

Then, be as yesterdays. 

A few more greetings, clasp of hands, 

A few more words of love; 

And wreathing smiles, and life's low sands 

Forever cease to move. 
13 



290 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

A few more farewell tears be wept, 
A few more hearts be tried ; 

Behold the record Time hath kept — 
Was born, and lived and died. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 291 



A WITHERED IIEAKT. 

Seest thou yoa flower so freshly plucked at morniQg ? 

Slioru both of beauty and of grace it lies ; 
No fragrance — it hath lost its chief adorning — 

'T is thus the heart's love withers, aye, and dies. 



A heirt without love, without power of loving, 
Cold as the stones upon some rocky shore ; 

Within each fair field, like a lover roving, 
But waking latent life, and love no more. 

Cold as the marble o'er the tomb, is keeping 
Its stately watch above the silent dead; 

While statue - like, the eyes no tears are weeping, 
As through each lonely pass the steps are led. 

! heart, like muffled drum thy pulses waking, ^ 
Each dirge - like step down to a deepening grave ; 

And in the midst of festive mirth, but making 
The green leaves of the lonely cypress wave. 

Vrithered an J buried with a hoarded treasure, 
That lies embalmod within some silent urn; 

Insensible alike to J03? or pleasure, 

Vrhose alt.ir- fires bnix since have ceased to burn. 



292 SOiVGS OF THE WEST. 

! love, thou art of many the undoing, 
Although the essence of our life thou art ; 

Alas ! how vain the lover finds his wooino;, 

Before the shrine where sleeps a withered heart. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 29^ 



Mr LIFE. 

My life is like a pale sea-flower, 
Tliat floats along upon the wave ; 

Rudely dissevered from its bower, 
Which the unquiet waters lave. 

My life is like a sparkling rill, 

AVinding as gladly on its way ; 
That turned at last to breakers wilJ; 

And dashed around in stormy spray. 

My life is like a rain-bow bright, 
That shadowed each prismatic form, 

And spanned the arching heavens with light, 
Only to bode the coming storm. 

My life is like a silent lute, 

On which unskillful fingers lain, 

Have often harshly swept its strings 
To discord, 'stead of tuneful strain. 



13 * 



!91 SOXaS OF THE WEST. 

My life is like a wasted pearl, 

The broken fragments scattered 'round, 

Or like a shell brought from the sea, 
That answers with its moaning sound. 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 205 



THE FAREWELL OF THE YEAR. 

Farewell ! fare ye well ! I am going now, 

With the hoary head, and the youthful brow; 

I bear the trophies of many a land 

AYith a conqueror's triumph, a victor's hand ; 

I measure the time, with a silent tread, 

As I journey along, with my precious dead. 

It was morn, when, from last year's cold ashes I woke, 
And the sun, with a smile of new radiance, broke, 
As I looked from my chambers, exultingly forth, 
From the ftir sunny South, to the desolate North, 
While the East raised her gates, to the bright King of 

And the West but reflected each rose-tinted ray. 

My advent was welcomed, by old and by young. 
And in loud sounding peans, my praises were sung ; 
" Happy New Year," was echoed by hill and by plain, 
And the dim forests caught and reechoed the strain, 
'Mid the pealing of bells, and 'mid voices of glee, 
'Mid the si";hin<r of bondmen — the son2:s of the free. 

1 have seen earth's broad bosom lie pale, cold, and chill, 
AYhile the wild streams of mountain and valley stood 
still. 



296 SOiXaS OF THE WEST. 

And the verdureless fields, in tlieir shorn beauty hiy. 
With leaf, bud, and blossom, all folded away. 
At the beck of monarch, that ushered me in, 
And bade me, my swift moving cycles, begin. 

My faithful chronometer noted each day, 

As it fled swiftly on, in the distance away, 

Weeks glided along to the great sea of Time, 

As hour by hour, rang out, unceasing, their chime; 

The Sim shone more brightly, as onward he sped, 

And the moon and the stars hung like gems overhead. 

Anon, there were signs, lay along the blue sky, 

And the mild winds, in murmurs, swept soothingly by, 

As the soft dews were laid, where the hard frost had 

lain, 
To woo the young life back to nature again ) 
Till new forms of beauty were born, as before. 
And the green earth was like a young mother, once 

more. 

I smiled, when the, sunbeams of summer looked down, 
And met every shadow that fell with a frown ; 
For I thought it would sadden the beautiful flowers. 
That grew tall and fair, in their thousands of bowers; 
^Mid the singing of birds, that were glad in their glee, 
I rejoiced to see all tiiiogs thus happy and free. 

But I sighed, like a beautiful child, at its toys. 
To thinkhow uncertain, and fleeting, life's joys; 



SOXGS OF THE WEST. 297 

For I knew that the Summer would soon ended be, 
And the harvest be past, both for them, and for me ; 
But while I was musing, there came a sweet voice, 
"For the gift of thy being, rejoice I 0! rejoice I" 

Again, there were shadows, crept over the sun, 

For the wane of the dnys of my life had begun; 

And all things seemed fading, still fading, away; 

I could see tliem grow paler, and paler each day, 

And my own locks were bleached, like the pure drifted 

snow, 
As the finger of death gently passed o'er my brow. 

I looked on the aged, whose sands were but few, 
And told of a clime, where all things might be new, 
But the full flush of life, looked aghast, when I spoke 
Of the strongest of ties, severed but by a stroke ; 
And beauty, and youth, gave a questioning look, 
As I traced out their names, oa a page of my book. 

But childhood, and infancy, 1 for the night, 

To cover the wealth of such spoils from the sight ! 

Stay the uplifted hand from the premature blow I 

Let the sweet early buds to maturit}^ grow ! 

But I heard groans, and sobbings, and heart-rending 

cries. 
As the prayer, unheeded, returned from the skies. 

The husbandman garnered the fruits of his toils, 
And they that had tarried divided the spoils. 



298 SONGS OF THE WEST. 

For some I had gathered, had gone on before , 
They shall hunger, nor thirst, neither cry any more — 
I, too, have worshipped at many a shrine ; 
All the years have their conquests, and I must have 
mine. 

Make haste ! ye that listen to love's syren song, 
The sun is down lower, the shawdows are long ; 
Linger not, till ;your hearts break, with holding of 

hands, 
For the angel of Death at your vestibule stands ; 
Imprint the last kiss, give the last, fond embrace, 
Ere the life-course be finished, and ended the race. 

Farewell I fare ye well ! I am going now, 
With a hoary head and faded brow, 
I bear the treasures of many a land, 
With a conqueror's triumph, a victor's hand, 
Ye will listen in vain for my coming tread, 
I return no more with my precious dead. 



SONGS 01 THE WEST. 



299 



ADOWN THE TIDE. 




^OLD, on my wan cheek, the night winds are 
blowing, 
Cold o'er the niar.shes, the mist-lights are 

growing. 
Cold, and still colder, the streamlet is 
flowing, 
As I glide, 
Adown the tide. 



Pale, o'er the latchet, the woodbine is creeping, 
Pale, by its side, the sweet star-eye is sleeping ; 
Pale, on its fringed lids, the dew-drops are weeping, 

Weeping tears, 

For the fading years. 



Still are the voices that sung for my pleasure, 
Still is the sound of each sweet hymning measure, 
Still in the dearth that surrounds me, I treasure, 
Treasure liofht, 



For the coming night. 



300 SONGS OF THE WEST. 



Gone is the brightness that beamed in the morninn; 



05 



Gone are the forms given for its adorning ; 
Gone, but more blest is my soul for its shorning, 

As I glide 

Adown the tide. 



FINIS. 



